Me and You Are Not a We
by Faith Zingeswar
Summary: Pride and Prejudice re-imagined and set in 1980's Virginia. William Darcy is a film producer and is looking to break out of his comfort zone and create a documentary. To do so, he will need Lizzy Bennet's help. Lizzy is an aspiring author who needs a chance. Helping Darcy with his documentary might just be the jumpstart her writing career needs.
1. Chapter 1 Darcy

**Author's Note: Wow, I didn't think I'd be back on this site after over 4 years of silence, but here I am! I've really missed writing, and I want to give Pride and Prejudice fanfiction another shot. This idea came to me recently and I'm excited to see where the story goes. I would really like critiques especially on any grammar and spelling errors, but please be respectful. This is a work in progress and I have a general outline already, I just need to flesh out the story and characters. I'm going to update every two weeks or sooner if I can get the chapter done sooner.**

 **I wanted to do a Pride and Prejudice fanfiction set in America during the dawn of technology. I wanted it to be more modern than 19** **th** **century England but more dated than the current times. If there are any history buffs out there, let me know if something I mention would not fit with the times, I will try and make it as historically accurate as possible.**

 **I'll mention at the beginning of the chapter who's voice I am writing in, so that you don't get confused by my going back and forth between characters. That's all I want to say for this chapter, so I hope you enjoy reading!**

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 **Chapter 1: Darcy**

"Are you even listening to me?"

I set my newspaper down and look up at my mother. She is looking up at me with her piercing green eyes, her mouth set in a thin line of annoyance. Her hair is pulled back tightly, but her forehead shows no sign of wrinkles despite the severe hairstyle. As always, her face is perfectly made up and her clothes are immaculately pressed. Even at a little over forty years old, she doesn't look a day over thirty.

"Yes, mother, I'm listening," I sigh picking up my coffee and taking a long drink.

"I do not understand why you are acting as if _I_ am the devil." My mother daintily dabs at the corners of her red pout. "As if I am not looking out for _your_ best interest."

I pick up another muffin and bite into it. Immediately notes of cocoa and cinnamon with a hint of pepper overwhelm my taste buds. Betsy's decadent chocolate cinnamon muffins are just as good as I remember. A wave of nostalgia hits me as I am immediately transported back to my schoolboy days - the simple days when all I had to worry about was sneaking snacks from the cookie jar and getting more railway figures for my model train set. I turn to the older woman standing dutifully in the corner. "You have truly outdone yourself with breakfast, Betsy. If not for your unwavering sense of loyalty I would have already stolen you away as my personal cook."

"William, stop avoiding my questions. Why did you have to treat poor Mary Lou so horrendously?"

I roll my eyes as I think back to the accidental date I went on with _poor_ Mary Lou. I met the girl at a sandwich shop nearby under the impression that she was seeking out my managerial expertise. I foolishly assumed that mother had introduced us in order to facilitate a professional acquaintance and only that. Of course, my dear mother had orchestrated this whole meeting to try and lure me into falling in love with Mary Lou from the well-bred family and the college degree in French History.

"She was vapid."

My mother huffs. "You think every woman is vapid." Mother forks a few more strawberries onto her plate. "Besides, you wouldn't know what to do with a wife who is smarter than you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that no girl is ever up to your standards. Even a college graduate is too vapid for you. My goodness, William, I'll be dead by the time a girl smart enough for you comes prancing along!"

I finish off my muffin and lean back in my chair. "Well, mother, it's not my fault that the society we run with encourages women to know more about the latest gossip than actual news. Find me a young woman who can talk about something other than the color of Sally Hansman's new frock and I will happily endure the entire date instead of walking out as I did to _poor Mary Lou_. Also, I'm particularly fond of brown eyes, so I'd very much appreciate if you kept that in mind when choosing candidates."

I glance down at my watch to see that almost two hours have passed since this Breakfast Inquisition began; so, I pick up my newspaper and grab another muffin before heading to the coatrack. "As always, this has been a pleasure, Mother. I'll see you tomorrow." Not waiting for my mother's reply, I jog to my car and pull out of my childhood driveway

My mother is desperate for grandchildren, and as her only child, I am her only option for providing little tykes to spoil. Every high society event is another opportunity to matchmake me with some new doe-eyed, coquettish courtesan. All of them are pretty and well-mannered and some have been genuinely interesting, but I am so tired of trying and failing to sustain a conversation with the predatory young women of high society. For once, I would like to meet a woman whose comments don't seem rehearsed and whose laughs don't seem timed. Every gesture, every compliment, every look is perfectly calculated and practiced and the contrived air of it all is so obvious.

I turn down a less populated street and continue down the open road. Ever since I took over the family entertainment company, I have thrown myself into the business, learning about the inner workings of film production and distribution. I am always looking for ways to best the competition and keep our company on top. Directors clamor for the chance to work with our studio and writers sometimes pay us to produce their work. I am proud of my company, and I take pride in doing my best to always realize its full potential. I want to continue my father's legacy.

It is hard to talk about my desires and dreams with others in my immediate circle of acquaintances. Nobody quite understands why I have such a fascination with finding meaning outside of making more money and acquiring more power. My mother, fearful that I might one day take off to "find myself", believes that marrying is the only way to keep me grounded and on top of my responsibilities. She does not get that I yearn to step outside of myself while still being myself. I want to continue running the company, and I want to continue being a good son, but I want to explore more artistic endeavors.

As I drive, the road becomes less winding and more bumpy. I haven't seen a car for probably five miles and there are no road signs or streetlights. I have found myself on a path surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. A sea of vibrant greens, yellows, and purples stretch across the landscape and spill over the edge of the earth where the sky kisses the ground. I turn off the car and leave it on the side of the road. I am always so amazed by all of the beautiful scenery that I still have yet to see. To think that I have lived in this town my entire life and have only just recently come across this magnificent view. I pull my Canon camera out of the backseat and place the strap around my neck, I roll up my sleeves, and I begin walking through the tall overgrowth. I peer through the lens testing out a few angles, and through my viewfinder, I spot a young woman sitting in a small clearing a little further ahead with her face turned up towards the sun.

I peer at her through the lens. The way the breeze whips through tendrils of her curly hair and slightly lifts the ruffles of her dress is accentuated by the brightly shining sun overhead and the cluster of wildflowers surrounding the one lone clearing in which she sits. Through the lens, the sky seems extremely blue and the grass appears extra green. I quickly snap a picture as she bends her head back with her eyes closed. I slowly raise my camera, angle the shot, and snap another picture as the wind lifts her hair Heavenward. I wait a few moments, watching her as she turns back to the horizon and closes her eyes once more. She looks so serene. I want to go up to her and ask for a more personal photo. The photos I just took, although beautiful will not capture all of the meaning behind her eyes. I am pretty shy about talking to strangers especially ones as intriguing as she. I have never asked a stranger to pose for a picture. Usually, acquaintances in my circle are more than happy to pose in some contrived way if I mention that photography is one of my hobbies. Often, the subjects of those pictures do their best to imitate the austere and coy poses made popular by Hollywood stars. My subjects have only ever been unwitting if they were part of a scene I wanted to capture that happened to have them in it.

The picture I just took feels… invasive. The young woman probably looks so serene because she feels safe. She believes that she is experiencing undisturbed peace as she attempts to be at one with nature. She is completely oblivious to the man with a camera taking unsolicited photographs while she enjoys the scenery. I feel like I should make the girl aware of her immortalization in my film roll, but I am too worried about negative repercussions to go up to her. What if she is so mad, she breaks my camera? What if she finds me creepy and reports me to the local sheriff? Even if she is not immediately repulsed, I am worried that I will blunder my words and be too tongue-tied to make any coherent sentences. I definitely will not be witty or charming no matter how much I practice beforehand; I have years of failed mingling experiences to know that with certainty. It is best to vow to never show these invasive pictures and leave before the young woman is made aware of my intrusive presence.

I make my way back to my car. Once safely inside, I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. Feelings of giddiness begin to set in as that familiar rush of joy from taking amazing photos begins to flow.

Just as I am about to drive off, I notice the young woman look down at her wrist before standing and stretching. She is holding a little black book in her hand. After getting her bearings, she walks through the field in the opposite direction that I drove in from. Once she hits the main road, she keeps up a moderate jogging pace and in a split-second decision, I start up my car and follow behind her.

She runs for about half a mile before turning into a town market area. I watch as she sprints up to the door of a grocery store. Bennet's Grocers, the sign on top reads. Bennet's Grocers. I try to commit the name to memory as she steps inside of the store, and I quietly turn my car around and drive back up to the studio to begin my work for the day.

Later as I am developing the photos, I look again at the uninhibited girl taunting me. Such beautiful pictures should be shown. They deserve to be admired. I let out a deep breath. Of course, that's impossible, right?

I take a moment to consider why such an endeavor would be impossible. The girl could say no. She might be creeped out by my taking candid photos of her. She might be a diva and only want to be photographed in a certain way.

But what if she says yes? I am always talking about wanting to take risks with the company, but I am struggling to ask a girl a simple question. I shake my head, ashamed that I am so worried about her reaction. I am William Thomas Darcy, one of the wealthiest and most successful men in America. Any woman would be lucky to have me ask them anything at all. I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

I hang the final picture and clean up my station. I mentally go through my schedule for the week. I have a full day tomorrow going over weekend openings and projections for new releases, and I have a meeting with my father on Tuesday. But this Saturday I should be free. Charlie usually takes Saturday mornings off, so he will be free to accompany me. I just need a story to tell him so he does not know my true purpose for randomly going downtown, but it should not be too hard to come up with a plausible enough reason. Charlie is not one to pry and he will probably take whatever I say at face value and suspect no ulterior motives.

I exit my basement and enter the kitchen to find that my housekeeper Nancy has already laid out a plate of food for me. I usually eat my dinner alone. I prefer solitude in the evening time. As I chew on my steak and potatoes, I try to push out the thought that this plan is a terrible idea and that it is more bother than it is worth.


	2. Chapter 2 Lizzy

**Author's Note:** **Thank you so much to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and reviewed the story. I appreciate your support so much. It's so weird writing this chapter by chapter because I have some of the later chapters (the big twist and turns) already done, but I have to spend time filling in the little detail and connecting chapters. That's where I've always struggled. As I get further into the story, I might go back and add more detail to the first chapter, but I think I'll leave it for now. I also might go back and make the dialogue more 70s style, I feel like my character voices right now are to modern for 1970.**

 **Also, Darcy's relationship with his mother will make more sense in later chapters. She comes across as very Mrs. Bennet in the last chapter, but there is a reason!**

*The events of the previous chapter take place on a Sunday, and the events of this chapter take place the following Monday.*

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 **Chapter 2: Lizzy**

I inhale the fresh meadow breeze surrounding me. My eyes close as I use my other senses to take in my surroundings. I can feel the prickly grass beneath my open palms, hear the various flying creatures milling about, smell the hints of lavender and dirt, and taste the crispness in the air when I inhale. This meadow is my favorite place in the whole world. Few people know about it, and even fewer people frequent it. I come here to think, to write, and to escape my crazy family and their drama. I gaze at the sun through squinted eyes as it continues to rise signaling the begin of the day. I have been up since before dawn working on some projects and sitting in this meadow. I like to get my day started early before the world is tainted with stressful situations and rude attitudes.

I glance at my old watch and read the ticking hands. I let out a long sigh before pushing myself up from the ground, dusting myself off, and making my way back to the path. I am opening the store this morning, so I have to get back before 9am. The family store is about half a mile away from the meadow, but if I jog, I should make it before opening time. The September sun feels marvelous on my skin and the fresh air smells like ripe apples and yellowing leaves. I inhale the autumn air as I speed-walk down the road. As I get closer to the store, I start to see small pockets of people milling about.

"Hello Mr. Wayne," I cheerily call out to the older gentleman sweeping the front stoop of his barbershop.

"Oh hello, Ms. Bennet. How you?"

"Fine. How about yourself?"

"Well," he chuckles leaning the broom against the front door of his shop, "When you get to be my age, every new day is a small miracle." He picks up the broom again and begins sweeping as he calls out, "Enjoy the rest of your day, little lady."

I smile back at him as I continue my walk to the store, pausing to say hello to familiar faces and smiling warmly at unfamiliar ones. The people in my neighborhood are a family. We work together, we rise together, we struggle together. We managed to carve out a small piece of the town for ourselves and build livelihoods from the scraps we were given. Because everybody knows everybody, I feel safe here. You can't get away with anything here. Some grandpa or aunty is watching your every move here, ready to report back to your parents –successes and transgressions alike.

I pull out my key and unlock the front door to our store. I open the blinds and turn the sign to open. I go behind the counter and get my apron, the register key, the receipt pad, and a stack of change out of the back room. While I wait for customers to pour in, I check the shelf inventory. Whoever closes the store is supposed to re-stock before the morning, but my sister Lianna was in charge of closing last night and she often "forgets" to re-stock when she's on nightshift duty. My sister Janet walks into the store just as I am checking the icebox.

"Morning Lizzy," she singsongs in her angelic voice. My sister Janet is an angel in a human's body. She has curly hair that she usually wears in a ponytail – sleeked down in the front and light and fluffy in the back. She has chiseled cheekbones and immaculately groomed eyebrows. She is tall and slender and fashionable. As if being beautiful on the outside was not enough, she is also blessed to be beautiful on the inside as well. She is a part-time school teacher and splits her time between the local school and work at the store. All of her kids think that she is a princess and sometimes I wonder if maybe she was adopted at birth. And of course, she is oblivious to all the jealousy and looks of lust she inspires. Countless men have come into the store buying this and that just to get a chance to flirt with her unaware that flattery flies right over Janet's head most times. Countless women have snubbed her or tried their hardest to embarrass her and "bring her down a peg." But Janet always sees the best in people, so she waves off the snubs and the rude comments.

I, on the other hand, wear my hair in two messy braids down my back curly wisps sticking out all over my head. Any other style is too much work, and I am not a fan of the hot comb or my mother's tendency to singe my ears while using it. I am just as tall as Janet but not as fashionable or kind. I am known for speaking my mind. I don't think that everybody has good in them, and if somebody does my family or I wrong, I'll make sure that swift justice is delivered to them. Despite our personality differences, we get along quite well. We balance each other out, Janet and I.

"Morning Janet," I reply back, "Ready for another enthralling day in the store."

"I couldn't imagine a better way to spend my day, sister dear." Janet and I laugh, and I toss her an apron. She gets to work tidying up the front of the store, and I pull out a book to pass the time. Our first customer arrives around 9:15am.

Mrs. James comes in for her weekly grocery shopping. She always comes in at the same time on Monday and spends ages comparing brand names and prices with a look of intense concentration. Her favorite line to mutter during checkout is "Why ya'll prices so high? Don't ya know we all poor out here?" I always make some half-attempted joke to which she harrumphs and storms out of the store with her multiple bags.

Then Mr. Moore walks in to buy a ham and cheese sandwich. He walks to the deli area and flirts with Janet the entire time she prepares his sandwich. Today he asks for two sandwiches to keep the conversation going after she finishes his first one. He ends the chat by asking her to let him know when she's free, so he can take her out for lunch at a nearby diner. She laughs melodically and agrees to let him know the next time he comes in. When he gets to the register and I ring him up, he's quiet and a little short… probably because he used up all his wit flirting.

Around noon the Dosesee boys walk into the store. I set my mouth in a fine line and narrow my eyes at them. Malachi Dosesee was kicked out of middle school for being a disruption and selling drugs on school ground. His brother Tyrone followed in his footsteps and was kicked out before high school as well. Both boys come from a good home with a loving mother and father, but the lure of quick money sucked them into the seedy world of drugs and crime. My brother James, well half-brother on my father's side is with them.

My papa, although a great man, was not always a faithful man. He had an affair with a widowed woman who lived a few doors down and out of that affair, James Thomas Bennet was born. His momma died soon after childbirth, so my parents covered everything up and pretended like the affair never happened. People were a little suspicious when he was born seeing as my mother never alluded to being pregnant even though she was very vocal about her previous pregnancies, but nobody gave it much thought seeing as James looks just like the rest of us. Only our family knows the truth, but different momma or not, I consider James my full brother.

My papa doesn't talk about James's mother much, but I know that she was the love of his life. He keeps a photo of her stashed away in his study drawer. I saw it once when I was playing through his things. He tolerates my momma, but definitely doesn't love her, that much is clear from the way he dismisses her and sometimes belittles her in front of us. Granted, my mother is ridiculous and more concerned with the latest gossip and trends than intelligent conversation. She presents an easy target for his snarkier side.

"Hey, sis, get us a few cokes for the road."

"You can get your own cokes," I reply back smoothly, "and shouldn't you be in school right now." The boys look around at each other sharing some secret joke while they attempt to suppress their laughter.

"It got out early," James grins as he grabs a few cokes out of the icebox and digs around his pocket for some change.

When he gets to the register, I heatedly whisper to him, "Why, you paying for their drinks like they don't got money for their own cokes? I already told you I don't like you hanging out with these hooligans. You're smart. Don't let them keep you from getting a good education and making something of yourself."

James doesn't respond or look me in the eyes as he picks up the cokes and joins his friends. Tyrone and Malachi each grab a coke and walk out the door laughing and pushing the entire way. James turns to Janet before he exits, "I'll be late for supper. Can you let Pa and Ma know?"

"Of course, James. You behave now." Janet smiles as she watches James exit the store.

"Janet, those boys are going to pull him into their nonsense. I don't understand why he stopped hanging out with Thomas, Mitch, and John. Those were some good influences. All of them talking about their computer technology and science stuff. That's what he should be focused on not getting into whatever those Dosesee boys are into.

"Lizzy, sometimes you have to let people live their own lives. You just gotta love them and hope they see the light before it's too late."

I sigh heatedly but table the issue for now. Arguing with Janet is a losing battle. A steady stream of customers come through the store buying vegetables and toothpaste and various lunch meats. I greet all the customers and chat with everybody as I ring up their purchases. Before long, my shift is over, and I am free. Like a good worker, I wait for Lianna to relieve me and as always, she is late. Today, I have somewhere important to be and am hoping that she arrives at a reasonable time. She always claims that she was held up at school, but I was in her shoes not too long ago, so I know how long it takes to get from the school to the store taking the bus as well as walking. Neither form of transportation takes over two hours. When she finally waltzes into the store a lollipop in her hand and a tall tale ready already tumbling from her lips, I am in too much of a hurry to berate her.

Lianna narrows her eyes and purses her lips. "Where you off to in a hurry?"

"I'm just going to sit in the meadow," I breezily reply avoiding eye contact lest I give myself away. Lianna can sniff out secrets like a bloodhound. I wipe off the counters and tidy up a few shelves.

"Weren't you there this morning?" Nothing escapes her notice.

I quickly reply, "What, I can't go twice in one day?"

Lianna stalks closer to me. She gets right up in my face with her eyes still slit and her lips still set in a thin line. "I don't know what you're hiding, but best believe I'm gonna find out."

Just as I'm about to reply, Amanda comes waltzing into the store. Her hair is done up and she is wearing a sparkly, revealing gown while holding a pile of clothes. "Is daddy in the back room?"

"No," Lianna replies, "but you better hurry. You know he likes to come in around this time to check on the inventory and count the morning sales."

My sister Amanda is the performer in the family. She does everything – dance, sing, act, contort. She currently works at the Old Blue's Jazz Club a few blocks down close to the night district in our town. It is one of the nicest clubs near our neighborhood, and Amanda works really hard to make sure the seats stay packed every night and weekend. She has dreams of acting in Hollywood movies, but none of her auditions have panned out. Drunk and crying, she once told me that no talent agent will hire her because she is not pretty enough, and her voice is not strong enough. She aspires to be the next Diana Ross and she is convinced she can be with a little cosmetic work and some voice lessons. I think my sister is beautiful the way she is, but my opinion means diddly squat next to the words of the all-powerful agents and directors of the glamourous Hollywood. Amanda's worst nightmare is being stuck performing at Old Blue's Jazz Club for the rest of her life. Although I don't agree with how she plans to leave, I understand her need to leave our small town.

Father is supportive of Amanda's endeavors as long as they don't interfere with her shifts at the store. Mother believes that performing at nightclubs is unbefitting of a young lady, but her protests are just for show. She always refuses to attend Amanda's shows, makes a big fuss when we drag her out, and makes a ruckus when the show is over; but during the show she is as awestruck as the rest of us.

"I tried to leave early, but rehearsal ran late. We got a new dancer, and he was making a mess of all of the steps. As good as our shows are, you would think the owner would be able to hire some good talent!"

"Here," I toss my apron at Amanda as I sling my bag across my shoulders. "It's been pretty quiet today and inventory is good for the most part. If Pa or mama ask, tell them I will be home in time for supper."

Amanda is too busy fuming about the new untalented, waste-of-space dancer to register my statement. Lianna tries to call out after me but is quickly roped into Amanda's tirade.

As the door shuts behind me, the last words I hear are, "I mean, could you believe his nerve, showing up ten minutes late? I mean really!"

I smile as I rush off towards the town center. I love my sisters, I truly do, but I do not want to share _everything_ with them. Besides my favorite sister Janet and my Pa, nobody knows why I sneak into the town center every couple of days.

"Good morning Mrs. Potts. How you doin' today?" I cheerily call out to the elderly woman across the street.

"Mornin', Beautiful. I'm doin' mighty fine today. Praise Jesus! How you?"

"Blessed and highly favored," I call back over my shoulder as I continue to quickly make my way to the center. Mrs. Potts' favorite things include being in young people's business, selling her handmade jewelry, and excessively using church lingo.

"Hallelujuah! Glory be! That's what I like to hear. Slow down before you trip and scrape your knee!"

I continue to speed on being careful to avoid potholes and cracks in the sidewalk. The town center is a good three miles from the store, so I will have to hurry if I want to make it there and back before suppertime. As I walk, I enjoy the way the sun warms my arms and makes them appear golden brown in the mild afternoon sunlight. I breathe in the crisp October air grateful for these warm fall days.

When I get closer to the center, I pull my long jacket out of my bag and put it on. I also pull on my hat over my two braids. I want to be as unnoticeable as possible to avoid any unwanted attention, so I cover up despite the warm temperature. I keep my head down as I travel through the bustling downtown center. People of every shape, color, and size rush about without a care for anybody else's wellbeing. Mothers drag children along hissing at them to "Hurry up now!" Business men in long black trench coats and black Pork Pie hats chat animatedly with other business men dressed similarly.

From behind, I feel something push me forward. I catch myself just in time to keep from falling on my face and smashing my teeth on the hard pavement. I stumble to the side of the walkway as a man engrossed in a newspaper continues to walk past me. Anger boils inside of me when the man does not turn around to say excuse me.

"Watch where you're going!" I yell out emphatically to his turned back, but he is too enthralled by whatever article he is reading to acknowledge my comment. It is probably for the best that he did not turn around. My main goal is to go unnoticed and a public shouting match with a stranger would tip the scale of inconspicuousness out of my favor.

Finally, I reach my destination. There are no distinguishing markings on the door or anywhere on the building. The windows are very grimy, and there is no light coming from under the door. I hurriedly unlock the door and make my way inside.

"Hello, are you here?" I pull off my jacket and make my way to the back of the building. "I don't have much time today. I have to hurry back if I want to make it back in time for supper."

A door in the back slams open and a man, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and hair slightly disheveled, storms out. Jim Barnes is a formidable man. He is a self-made business man who as a child in the underbelly of Virginia had a dream to never go to bed hungry again. He found his salvation in the world of print. He moved to the glamourous city of New York and worked his way through the magazine circuits, interviewing the biggest names in fashion, music, and film. By being ruthless, determined, and charismatic he managed to rub shoulders with the right people and work his way up to assistant editor-in-chief of the top magazines in the nation. After a few years at the height of success, he decided that he to return to his hometown in order to escape the hustle and bustle of city life. He started a town lifestyle/news magazine filled with more exposing of secrets than hard hitting stories. He found satisfaction in being so highly favored and worshipped by the same people who would never have given him a first glance when he was growing up in the town a couple of decades ago. He used his power to garner favors in exchange for not printing more salacious tidbits about the town elite. Now, he schmoozed with the top players and got to look down on the poor that were not as lucky as he. The town sees him as a trendsetting icon... proof that the American dream is possible. But I see him for who he really is… a sleazy opportunist, a charismatic slimeball.

"What the _hell_ is this?" Well, he's charismatic when he wants to be. Jim holds a piece of paper in my face – my latest article for him. Jim and I met when he held a contest for aspiring writers in the town (a charity something or another to boost his likeability among readers). I won the contest and my prize was a meeting with him to discuss my opportunities as a writer. Jim immediately offered me a job working for his magazine. We often clash on my article topics. I want to write hard-hitting pieces with facts and unbiased interviews, but he wants me to focus on our dear Nancy column - our most popular column among housewives and maids.

"I don't know what the problem is. I got the Nancy column submitted and sent in before the deadline. I had some spare time, so I'd thought I'd –"

"You'd what?" Jim walks to the desk near the front of the makeshift office and plops into his chair. "You thought I'd just print this poorly written drivel just because you got your column for next week done early. A column I pay you for, remind you."

"I'm tired of just writing advice columns. I know that I'm capable of more. That article," I begin pointing at the paper sitting forlornly on the worn-down desk, "is well researched and well written. I'm not the best writer, but I'm a good writer. I just need you to give me a chance to prove myself!"

I stare at Jim, unwilling to back down from this. I have wanted to be a writer ever since the poetic words of Maya Angelou touched my soul and opened the door to a world of possibility. A world that could bridge gaps and convey what spoken words often fail to do – subtext, depth, and clarity. I want to write about the world from a voice that is not always heard – a young black woman's perspective.

Jim stares back at me, also unwilling to back down. After a few moments, he shakes his head and smirks up at me. With a pitying look he replies, "The truth is you're replaceable. Starry-eyed aspiring writers are a dime a dozen. I could have ten of you lined up and ready to work like that." He snaps his finger for emphasis. "I'm doing you a favor by even letting you write for this magazine. I hired you when you had no experience, little education, and a messy writing style. Don't let the few compliments you've gotten on some of your pieces get to that little head. I mean, you write an advice column for God's sake. How much work does that take, huh? You think you can just start writing actual articles because you have experience answering cleaning questions for neurotic housewives and domestics?"

My breathing becomes labored as I do my best to remain calm and collected as Jim continues to tear down my work. My nostrils flare as I chant calming statements in my head. I can't get mad. I can't blow up. Jim is right about one thing, I am replaceable to him. My column is extremely popular, but plenty of writers could easily take on the task.

I wait until his tirade is complete and he is sitting back in his seat before I first thank him for the opportunity to work at his magazine. He smiles smugly, and I die a little on the inside. Not for the first time I think, is this stepping stone position really worth the degradation and humiliation. "Sir, I should not have pushed and wrote that article without permission. It was presumptuous of me. But if you give me a chance, I can show you that I am capable of more than just the advice column. I wouldn't even require more money. You pick the topic. I'll write it. I can do a piece on the river pollution uptown or a character sketch of the mayor or – "

"No."

I shake my head and blink a few times, "Excuse me."

"I said," he rises from his chair, both hands on his desk in a domineering stance, "N-O, no. No, you cannot do a piece on the river pollution. No, you cannot do a piece on the mayor. No, you cannot do anything but answer questions for the Dear Nancy column. And if you ever talk to me about money again, I'll fire you on the spot."

"I didn't mean it like that! I was simply saying –" The words get stuck under my tongue. I don't know what to say to make this situation better.

Jim sits back in his chair and opens his drawers, pulling stacks of papers out. "We're done here." He turns away from me and begins rifling through the papers.

I am so angry, I want to knock him out of his chair and slap the smug look off his face. Instead, I settle for grabbing my article off his desk and storming out of his office. I slam the door as hard as I can on my way out and barrel through the crowds in the much less congested town center. All I feel is rage. Jim Barnes is exploiting me, and he knows that I know it. He gets great satisfaction from paying me below wages for my work and keeping me stuck in such a menial position. I am wasting my time working for him, but I have no experience to move to a better position. I am stuck. He has a hand in every publication that circulates in our town. There is nowhere I can go to work that will not first vet me through him. I will have to travel to a new town to have a shot at writing something other than an advice column.

I stomp all the way home. I take a few calming breaths before entering the door, wash up, and take my place at the table just as pa is sitting down to say grace.

"Elizabeth Bennet, don't come sneaking to my dinner table like a thief in the night. Where were you? Your sister tells me that you've been gone all afternoon."

I turn to Lianna and shoot her daggers. She smiles slyly back at me before reaching for the greens. "Like I told Lianna earlier, I was in the meadows. I lost track of time. Sorry."

"But she was in the meadows earlier this morning. Why would she –"

"Lianna, do you want to argue about your sister's whereabouts or dig into this delicious meal your mother slaved away preparing." Pa smiles at me and I give him a small smile back in return.

"But Pa –"

Lianna is cut off once again by James's noisy entrance. "Sorry I'm late. This looks delicious Mama Bennet. You really put your knee into it."

"Oh, thanks James. You're too sweet." Mama loves James because he's always sweet

talking her. She'd have one of us marry him if not for that pesky problem of sharing genes. I give him a stern look letting him know that he'll be hearing more from me about the scene in the store, but I am too angry to bring it up in the moment.

The conversation around the table is amicable. Never touching on any controversial topics like Amanda's performing, my constant disappearances, or Lianna's overly flirty behavior. After supper, we all watch a bit of tv in the family room before slowly heading upstairs to bed. Amanda and Lianna head to their room, James heads to his, Mama and Pa to theirs, and Janet and I to ours.

When we get to our room, Janet closes the door and turns to me. "Lizzy, is everything alright?" Janet is an angel. Her capacity for kindness and understanding is truly otherworldly, and her skills of perception and empathy are also topnotch.

"I had a fight with my editor. He refuses to let me write on anything more serious. He also criticized my work."

"Oh Lizzy," Janet rushes to my side and throws her arms around me in a fierce hug, "You're an amazing writer. Don't let his mean words get to you. You're going to get your chance to shine soon. I know it. The world deserves to hear your voice because you have something important to say. Don't lose hope. Don't!"

I hug Janet back as tears threaten to spill over. Janet always knows the best thing to say. I would have given up on my dreams of writing a long time ago if not for her constant support and encouragement. "Thanks, Janet. I won't give up."

"Good!" Janet releases me and goes to her side of the bed. "Don't forget about all of us when you make it as a big time New York bestseller's author."

I laugh along with her and get into bed as well. I want to believe Janet, but now that the adrenaline has run its course, despair has taken over. Being an author, let alone a New York Time's bestselling author, seems like a far-fetched dream now. I am going to be stuck writing Dear Nancy until I die. From beyond the grave, Jim Barnes will find a way to still control my writing career. I will die unknown with no accomplishments and no success. People will attribute my column to some white report on staff because who will believe that a nineteen-year-old black girl with no college education and no other writing experience would be chosen to write for the most prestigious magazine in town even if it is just an advice column. I lie awake turning over my options in my head. No matter how much I analyze my choices, I come to the same glum conclusion.

Janet is softly snoring beside me. I reach under my bed and pull out my keepsake box. My grandmother gifted it to me on my twelfth birthday, and I have been storing all of my important keepsakes in it ever since. I pull out the only photo I have of my sister Katrina and smile fondly, my chest tightens and tears spring to my eyes as I quickly flip the picture over and continue rifling through the trinkets. There is a roll of cash, the first article I ever wrote – cut neatly out of the newspaper and laminated to protect the edges. There is also a playbill from Amanda's first show. Finally, I reach the letter I am searching for, pull it out, and unfold it. I read through the letter and sigh. I re-read the letter until my eyes grow weary and my arms hurt from holding it up to the candlelight. I fold the letter along its creases and put it back into its envelope. I carefully place the envelope back into the box and cover it with the picture, the playbill, and the article. I close the box and place it back under the bed. I blow out the candle and snuggle into the covers.

"Sweet dreams," I softly whisper as a lone tear falls down my face.

"Dear Ms. Bennet,

Although the pieces you sent in were well-written and engaging, I regret to inform you that we cannot offer you a position at this time. We are looking for someone with more experience and since you cannot provide a reference, we are unable to move forward with your application. I encourage you to gain experience writing for a local paper or magazine and then re-apply with our company. I wish you all of the luck with your future endeavors.

Sincerely,

BlueBird Publsihing House"


	3. Chapter 3 Darcy

**Author Note: What's up everyone! So, took a little longer than two weeks to get this chapter done because I had my wisdom teeth taken out recently, was drugged up, and did not feel like doing much. In regard to the story, I'm going to change the setting to 1980 because I don't want to write about the Vietnam War, and based on his age Darcy will be eligible for the draft if the story is set in the 1970's.**

 **Please let me know if I mention anything that wouldn't be around in the 1980's; I'm a late 90's baby so I'm trying to do as much research as possible. Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows. As a novice writer, they mean the world to me.**

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 **Chapter 3: Darcy**

I place the print in the tray of developer and begin to gently rock it back and forth. I have been in the dark room for the past few hours trying to develop my most recent film roll. I have been thinking about how I will tell a story through my pictures, and I still do not know the best way to find interesting subjects for my photos. My parents might have some friends worth documenting, but I don't know if I am ready to reveal this side project to my parents yet. I want to figure out what story I want to tell through my pictures. I have toyed with the idea of doing a history of the town – interviewing townsfolk young and old and looking at the progression of the town through the eyes of its inhabitants. Unfortunately, I am not the best conversationalist (some might argue that I'm actually the worst). The notion of interviewing a stranger makes me want to break out in hives. I have so much still to figure out, and my parents, the doers that they are, will take over the project and mold it in their creative image if I am not 100% sure of the direction I want to go. I definitely need to have a more solid plan. The sound of liquid splashing on the table jars me from my reverie, and I turn to the woman standing beside me violently shaking the tray of developer.

"Like you're gently rocking a baby to sleep, not like you're performing the Heimlich on it."

Sophia, the only girl friend that I have, stops her violent motions and with an air of exasperation looks up at me. "Sorry, William. I'm just so heated right now. Ugh, I just don't know what to do. He's grown so distant lately, and I fear that he's being unfaithful. Just the other night, I asked him why he was coming home so late, and he had the nerve to get mad at _me_ for asking. He completely turned the conversation around and somehow, I went to bed that night feeling guilty for asking. Can you believe it? And then this morning…"

I listen silently as Sophia fills me in on all of the sordid details of her train wreck marriage. I love Sophia, but I warned her in the beginning that her marriage was destined for heartbreak and betrayal. She was so caught up in the novelty of the romance and whispers of sweet-nothings that she did not heed my advice and against common sense, married one of the dodgiest degenerates to ever walk the face of the earth. I try to be a supportive friend when I can but despite my best intentions, my words of encouragement come out judgmental and rude (her words not mine). Since I cannot offer advice on the matter without causing tears to spring to Sophia's eyes and sending her into a state of immense self-loathing, I half-heartedly listen to the new developments in the tedious saga whenever she feels the need to vent to me.

"So, what do you think I should do?" Sophia has stopped shaking the tray and instead has her arms hanging limply at her sides as she awaits my profound response.

"Yep, he is the absolute worst." I carefully pick up the photo I am working on and slide it into the stop bath.

"What? That's not an answer. William, are you even listening to me?"

"Of course, I heard every word." I drain the tub again and place the photo in a tray of fixer fluid.

Sophia sighs heavily and softly places a hand on my left shoulder. "Will, I… I really don't know what to do. I need your brutal honesty right now."

I pick up the photo with a pair of tongs and inspect it under white light before hanging it on the drying line. I turn to Sophia and give her my full attention. "My advice is still the same. Leave him. Don't make excuses for him. Don't rationalize staying with him. I promise you that he will continue to hurt you and continue to abuse you. Your husband is not a good man. You owe him nothing and you have no children with him. You're not pregnant, right?"

"No."

"Okay then."

"But Will, it's not that simple. I –"

"No, Sophia, it is that simple." I turn to face her again tired of this purportless discussion. "You said brutal honesty so here it is. Wake up and move on. There's nothing more to discuss." I take the paper in her developer tray out and move it to a tub of fixer. It has been developing for way too long, but I still want to see how the photo turns out. Sophia stands beside me fighting an inner battle. I pay her no mind. We have been in this situation a thousand times and it always ends up the same way – her back with her husband making ridiculous excuses for his mistreatment of her.

As I am hanging the second photo on the line Sophia utters a simple word with powerful implications, "Ok."

I am momentarily frozen as I take a moment to register what she has just said. I turn to her and a slow grin spreads across my face when I realize that I heard her correctly. I was expecting another rant about how I am not understanding enough or criticism of my advice validity because I lack relationship experience. The last thing I was expecting was a statement of acquiescence. "Ok?"

Sophia meets my gaze. Tears begin to collect in the corners of her eyes. Her auburn curls bounce up and down as she vigorously nods her head. "You're right. You've always been right. I need to leave now. Will you help me?"

"Of course," I say. Declaring the short phrase with enough conviction to assure her that there was never a need to ask. That I will always be there for her. "Of course I'll help you."

Sophia pulls me into a tight hug. With the red-light casting looming shadows on the walls, I let her cry out her pain on my shoulder.

.

.

.

The intensity of this Tuesday has me aching for the respite of the weekend. I pause briefly to stretch my arms and move my neck from side to side. From meeting with the executives to discuss upcoming movie releases to convincing investors that their money is being well spent, I have been running all over the building checking in with everyone, fixing small crises, and trying my best not to crumble under the standards of perfection I force myself to abide by.

My family's film production company Pemberley Productions produces science fiction and westerns almost exclusively. Our films are larger than life. In them, we test the boundaries of human imagination. With the introduction of Computer-Generated Imaging in the last decade, our movies have reached new levels of extravagance. We can now make our aliens beam away and our heroes shoot lasers from their guns. We have enjoyed a lot of success with our large-scale, special effects movies, but I want to make the jump into more realistic films. I want to branch out into dramas, movies grounded in the current reality instead of the distant future. I explain all of this to my father during our weekly meeting.

"Change is good." My father twists the cap off of his favorite bottle of Scotch and pulls out two glasses. He fills them both halfway, drops a couple of ice cubes in each, hands me one glass, and sits down with the other. "We have to stay ahead of the game if we want to beat out the competition. I'm so tired of seeing Disney everywhere. You know, I talked to Cardon Walker, and he said Tokyo Disneyland will be open next year. Tokyo! Couldn't just be content to stay in America." My father drowns his drink in one gulp and gets up to pour himself another one. "They've basically dominated the family film market, so we've gotta dominate every other market."

"Okay, I was thinking of more... heartfelt movies. Coming of age movies, films that make you think. I want to do more realistic movies, with heart and soul, movies that have a message," I pause to take a sip from my glass. "Of course, these movies won't make as much as our over-the-top fantasy films, so to bankroll these smaller projects, I think we should expand into the romance genre. Love sells. We could do romantic comedies, historical romances, romantic thrillers… people love a good love story so let's put a twist on it and make it fresh. Won't be too big budget, just have to pay the actors, find a good playwright and director, splurge on some good music. A lot of our current actors and actresses have a lot of star appeal and their starring in a romantic drama could bring in a ton at the box office. For example, Charlie was voted hottest something or another, so he would be perfect as the lead in a romance. We'll drum up some press about him and his co-star dating, and I promise the theatre will be packed on opening night!" I am so excited; I can see the prospects now.

My father takes a long swig from his second glass of scotch before asking, "How is my boy Charlie? I haven't seen him in a while. He staying out of trouble? Invite him over for the next Sunday brunch."

My father sees Charlie as a second son. He and I went to prep school together and became fast friends. Charlie appreciated my wisdom and advice, and I appreciated his non-imposing company. Charlie accepted my reserved nature but was always there to make sure I did not have a nervous breakdown when my need for perfection got the best of me, and I appreciated him for it. When his parents died in a car crash some years ago plunging him into a self-destructive spiral, I lent myself as his shoulder to cry on, and my father took him under his wing teaching him about the business in hopes that Charlie might become a producer someday. Every Saturday, Charlie and I would follow father around the studio watching him negotiate and oversee. I was fascinated by the directors and Charlie was fascinated by the actors; his favorites being Al Pacino and Harrison Ford. Right now, he uses his overflowing charisma and dashing good looks to charm his way into the hearts of every woman and man who watches his wild westerns and galaxy benders.

"But you're going to need a new marketing team if you want to branch out. You can't release dramas with a science fiction team and expect the public to bite. That's like expecting _Star Trek_ and getting _Gone with the Wind_ instead. Our audience would be so confused. Maybe you should release the movies under a different division. Don't even use the Pemberley name. You're also going to need some new directors and writers. I love our guys, but they're not well-suited for anything that doesn't involve copious amounts of shooting and explosions."

"I can do that."

"Also, with marketing, you'll want to see which stories are popular amongst the ladies – your target audience. Maybe ask your friend Sophia or better yet, your mother. She'll _definitely_ know what's popular amongst the ladies in the town."

"Oh, that reminds me, I have to see mother today." I jump up from my seat and head towards the door. Time always seems to fly when I meet with my father. Right now, my father is acting as a face for the company instead of fulfilling an actual working role. The day to day running of the company rests on my shoulders. Despite having full control of the company, I still like to run things by my father first; and I know that he appreciates being kept in the loop.

My father glances at me over the top of his empty glass. The ice cubes have begun to melt and condensation droplets race down the side of the cup. "I heard that you were short with her last time you both talked."

"Who did you hear that from?" My mother always has nothing but compliments to give when talking about me to other people, especially my father.

"Just because I walked out of the dining room before things got heated, does not mean I was out of hearing distance. I knew that your mother's hinting about grandchildren might turn into a bit of an argument between you two, and I definitely did not want to be dragged in but," my father pauses and a slow grin spreads across his rough face, "free entertainment is free entertainment."

My father is the Humphrey Boggart to my mother's Lauren Bacall. Both timeless beauties aging gracefully. Their looks and manners exude old Hollywood, early Hollywood. My father is ruggedly handsome with a commandeering personality and shrewd mind perfectly suited to running a multi-million-dollar corporation. My mother is all elegance and dainty features with an endless capacity to care for others and the ability to problem solve the toughest of situations. I am constantly fighting to live up to the examples of perfection set before me by my parents. Every day I pray that I do not end up disappointing them.

I let out a heavy sigh as I think back to the scene this past Sunday. "Yeah, that's why I have to visit her. I have to go and apologize. I was harsh."

"Your mother is… persistent. She means well, but the problem-solver in her sometimes creates problems where there are none." My father comes over to where I am standing by the door and places a firm hand on my shoulder. "She loves you. Very much. I do too. We could not bear to lose you. If anything happens to you, I don't…" My father chokes on his next words. I save him the trouble of having to explain away the inevitable tears that will come if he finishes his sentence.

I pull him into an embrace and whisper, "I know.

The drive back to my childhood home is somber. My father wants to give my mother and me some time alone, so he elects to stay at the office a little longer. I personally think that he wants to enjoy a few more glasses of scotch in the solitude of his office before retiring for the night. I think about what I want to say to my mother when I see her. I meant to call her Sunday afternoon and apologize, but I got lost in the excitement of my new project and then the grind of work consumed all of my attention as soon as the work week began.

My mother is keen on my marrying because she thinks that it will keep me settled and close to her. Which, in all honesty, is accurate. I cannot imagine starting a family anywhere besides our little town of Healdsburg, Virginia. I have always dreamed of building a house on my family estate and living there with my wife, our three maybe four children, and our Labrador retriever. My mother does not want to drive more than an hour to see her grandchildren, so a house nearby will be a must. She has been through a lot of loss in her lifetime, so it is no wonder she wants to keep me close.

If you ask me how many people are in my family, I will reply three – my father, my mother, and I. If you ask my mother, she will say eight – my father, me, her and the five children she lost. Three miscarriages, One baby who died in her arms, and One little girl with beautiful blue eyes who did not make it to her third birthday.

I took my first breath on March 12, 1957, after a relatively smooth pregnancy and uncomplicated labor and delivery. I was average weight and height, hit the normal milestones, and contracted the usual types of infancy illnesses. Nothing about my birth predicted the struggle my mother would have with the rest of her pregnancies.

 _When I was five, my parents came into my playroom and sat down with me. My father picked me up and flew me high above his head. I giggled joyously as he flew me around like an airplane. My mother, so graceful and beautiful with her lips painted red and her brown curls perfectly coiffed, took me from my father's outstretched arms and sat me down on her lap. She snuggled my head with hers and placed a kiss on my forehead._

 _"Guess what, William? We have a surprise for you."_

 _I looked at both my parents with excitement expecting the train set I had seen in the toy store a few days ago and eagerly pointed out to my parents. I wriggled around searching behind their backs for the surprise._

 _"You are going to be a big brother!"_

 _"A brother?" I asked confused still searching for the box that housed my new train._

 _"That's right, bud," my father smiled, ruffling my hair, "In a few months, you are going to have a new brother or sister to love."_

 _"Inside of my stomach, there is a baby growing inside. He or she will be really small at first but will grow big just like you. And don't you worry. We will still love you just as much as we do now. We might have to pay more attention to this little one, but you will still be our little man."_

 _"We want you to look out for your brother and make sure that he–"_

 _"Or sister," my mother interrupted._

 _"Right," my father chuckled, "Look out for him or her. Make sure nobody messes with them and teach them the ropes, alright?"_

 _I am still confused as to why this is supposed to be exciting news, but I reply, "Alright." After a moment I ask, "Since I'm going to be a big brother, can I get a new train set? The baby can have my old one, so I'll need a new one."_

 _"Haha! Thinking like a businessman already, I like it. Yeah, bud, we can go to the toy store this weekend."_

 _I smile down at my mother's stomach. I take back my previous statement. This baby is exciting news._

 _As the days turn into weeks, I can sense a change at Darcy manor. The staff smiles at each other more as if they are all in on some huge secret. Nobody pays as much attention to me, so I am able to stay up past my bedtime and eat more sweets at dinnertime. One time, I spent all day playing outside instead of attending lessons and nobody scolded me. I guess this baby is a really big deal._

 _Suddenly, the good cheer was replaced by darkness and gloom. I got scolded more often for little things like not picking up my toys or staying outside a little too long. My father did not pick me up and play airplane with me, and my mother did not read me a bedtime story for three weeks. I checked the post religiously awaiting the arrival of the baby, but nothing showed up. When I asked my mom when the baby would be delivered, she turned away from me and started to cry; and then my mother picked me up and held me close while she sobbed. She told me that there would not be a baby anymore and that I would not be a big brother right now. I was sad because my mother was sad, but I told her that we could buy another one when we go to the store. She laughed through her tears, and I smiled._

 _I heard mentions of a baby two more times after that, but no baby ever showed up and there were two more instances of intense gloom that came over the house. Four years after I was falsely told that I would be a big brother, I noticed my mother's stomach growing larger, and I noticed that she was tired more often. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me that she was pregnant again. She did not say it with the same joy as the first time she told me, but there was still hope in her eyes. Every care and precaution was taken for my mother. A maid accompanied her everywhere, and she was not allowed to overexert herself. She was given special "pregnancy" meals and she spent most of her time in her room. The doctor visited weekly, sometimes twice a week._

 _Weeks from my tenth birthday, I finally became a big brother. I remember how everybody cooed over my little brother Michael when he was placed in my mother's arms. She held him reverently and stared into his shrunken face. I thought he was quite ugly and didn't look human at all, but I was happy that my mother seemed so happy. My father reached over to stroke the baby's head when suddenly, in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, he turned blue and stopped breathing._

 _My mother thrust him at the doctor and screamed, "What's wrong? What do I do? Tell_

 _me! Help me!"_

 _The doctor rushed to my mother and grabbed the baby from her shaking hands. I stared in horror as the pinkish gray skin of my new little brother turned blue and his face scrunched up in anguish. I remained quiet, watching from the corner as the doctor and nurse fussed over the little human. My mother was in hysterics and my father was simultaneously attempting to calm her down and yell at the doctors to fix little Michael._

 _"What's wrong with him? He was fine a few seconds ago." My father yelled at the frantic doctor and nurses._

 _My mother was wailing. "I'm cursed. It's my fault. I killed him! I killed my baby!"_

 _I stood watching confused, terrified, stricken by the scene playing out in front of me. I made no noise and no movement as the doctor told my parents that the baby suddenly died due to cessation of breathing. They think that his heart was not fully developed and that he was not pumping blood at a capacity to support life outside of the womb. I don't know if my parents heard any of that over my mother's weeping and my father's attempts to calm her._

 _"Do you want to hold your baby?" Neither of my parents paid the doctor any mind as he held the blue baby out to them. Unsure of what to do, the doctor and nurses looked amongst themselves. Compelled by a force outside of myself, I stepped forward and held out my arms._

 _"I'd like to hold him." My voice shook a little as everybody turned towards me._

 _"Oh, bud. I didn't realize you were still here. You shouldn't have to see this." My father reached out trying to grab my arm and pull me away from the commotion._

 _"No," I stated as I moved out of his reach. "He was my little brother even if just for a second. I'd like to say goodbye."_

 _The doctor looked at my father for approval before placing the baby carefully in my arms. "Make sure to support him."_

 _He was cold. Almost ice cold. His eyes were wide but there was nothing behind them. I could not bear to look into his eyes, so I reached up and pulled his eyelids closed before I whispered my sendoff. "I guess I'll never get to teach you how to play catch or beat dad at goldfish." I hear my father chuckle beside me. "I'm sorry you'll never get to hear one of mom's bedtime stories or try one of Betsy's amazing muffins or feel the summer sun on the back of your head. But for the time you were here, I hope it was special. It was special for me cause I got to be a big brother for a little while." My mother's wailing has subsided to sobs as everybody in the room listens to my farewell. "Goodbye, Michael, I'll miss you."_

 _I turn back to my parents and hold the baby out to them. My mother takes the bundle from my hands, and I feel cold when my arms are emptied. She embraces the baby as my father pulls me into an embrace. "Well said, bud. I know your little brother appreciated it."_

 _The doctor and nurses left my family, so we could grieve together. We stayed together all night, huddled over little Michael._

 _When my mother found out that she was pregnant for the sixth time, she showed no emotion. She did not tell anybody outside of my father and I, and she went about her life as usual. She did not decorate the nursery or think up names or ask me if I wanted a little sister or a little brother. She did none of those things because she could not allow herself to be crushed again from misplaced hope. When Grace was born without any complications and with minimal pain, my mother refused to hold her until the doctor confirmed that she was completely healthy. They listened to her little heart and checked her little lungs. My mother refused to get attached to a baby that might die in her arms as Michael had. When her health had been confirmed, my mother held Grace in her arms and cried for a long time. Finally, she passed the little girl to my father who held her for a few moments before placing her in my trembling arms. I looked into her face enthralled by the tiny human in front of me. She had the deepest blue eyes and tufts of wispy blonde hair on her soft head. She was fussing a little, probably smothered by all of the blankets wrapped around her. I stared at her for a long time unable to fathom that I was holding such a tiny human - one that was alive. The moment I set my eyes on her, I fell in love. I had such a deep desire to protect this little infant from any emotional or physical harm that might come her way. My mother was still crying when I placed Grace back in her arms._

 _"My sweet, sweet baby girl," she whispered, "My sweet, sweet baby girl."_

 _I looked up from my chair and saw my father wiping at his eyes._

 _Although my mother loved Grace with all of her heart, she did not allow herself to hope that Grace would make it through infancy; but when she defied all odds and made it to her second birthday surpassing every milestone – walking at 9 months, talking in sentences just before 2 years of age, smiling, laughing, bringing joy to everyone around her – my mother finally let out the breath she had been holding since the pregnancy was confirmed. When Grace died of pneumonia days before her third birthday the gloom that fell over the Darcy house was palpable. I couldn't be in the house for too long or the grief would suffocate me. Days after the doctor had pronounced my sister dead and offered his condolences, my mother stayed in the nursery holding my sister's cold hands unable to muster the strength to shed a single tear._

November 2, 1970, marked the worst day of my mother's life. Her miracle child had been snatched away from her. After that, my mother had a hysterectomy to prevent the possibility of conceiving again and devoted all of her maternal energy to me which was both a blessing and a curse. I love my mom. She is an amazing woman who gives amazing advice but losing so many children has made her fearful of losing me. She gets anxious when she senses me pulling away. Our relationship was very strained when I went off to college. She expected me to call to check in twice a day – once when I woke up and once before I went to bed. The amount of time I spent glued to the floor phone, fielding questions from my mother about how much sleep I was getting and how hard classes were, made the other boys in my dorm house think I had a devoted sweetheart waiting for me at home.

Moving out of my parents' house after graduating college was another stressor on our relationship, alleviated by my assurance of living not more than a twenty-minute drive away. I also am required to have brunch with my parents every Sunday and check in with my mother every so often. As we look into expanding Pemberley Productions and maybe setting up offices in other cities, my mother has become worried that I will move away indefinitely.

I unlock the front door and push my way in. The house is eerily quiet, so my mother must have retired to her sitting room. I make my way to the back of the house, careful not to make too much noise. I do not want to get into any lengthy conversations with the staff about what supplies the house needs or what I will like for the dinner I have no intentions of staying for.

The door to the sitting room is slightly ajar, but I knock and wait for the "It's open!" before I make my way to the couch on which my mother is lounging. The blinds are drawn casting an eerie shadow everywhere that is not illuminated by the artificial light streaming down from the overhead chandelier. The soft notes of Bing Crosby's rendition of _La Vie En Rose_ float through the air. My mother is perched on the chaise with her back to the armrest and her feet tucked under her midnight blue day dress. Her heels are neatly seated at the foot of the couch. Her lips are painted red and her black beauty mark is a little higher on her cheek than usual. Post it notes are overflowing from the large dog-eared book sitting on her lap. She is checking over the book of designs for her newest collection of couture clothing.

"William, darling, come look at this and tell me what you think."

"Mother, you know I don't know anything about women's fashion." I roll my eyes good-naturedly as I sink into a chair close to the chaise my mother is currently occupying.

She closes her book and looks up at me with her warm brown eyes. "When you were younger, I used to ask you to point to your favorite design of the collection and whatever you chose ended up being my finale piece. Do you remember?"

I nod smiling, "I remember. You would let me rifle through the pages and make suggestions. They were always such stupid suggestions like make the models wear alien antennas or have them walk with no shoes."

My mother returns my smile and leans over to place a hand on my cheek. "I'm sorry about being so pushy at brunch on Sunday. I was overstepping. You know me. When I see a problem, I rush to fix it." She looks down at her lap. "Sometimes I try to fix things that aren't broken. I just care about you so much. I want to make sure that you're settled with a family of your own before I pass on."

I roll my eyes again. "Mom, you're only in your forties. You're not dying anytime soon."

"You're right. I have no need to worry, but… life is short and who knows what cards will be dealt us next." My mother closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Once she opens her eyes she says, "If you're happy, I'm happy. I promise not to talk about marriage, courting, or eligible young ladies unless you bring it up first. But, fair warning, if you do bring it up, I will make a big deal about it and meddle, meddle, meddle."

"Fair enough," I concede with a smile.

My mother looks up at the ticking clock hanging overhead and her eyes grow wide. "Is it already so late? I've been here by myself for hours." She conceals a yawn behind her right hand and brings her legs from underneath her. "I think it's time for me to retire for the night. I am completely exhausted." She perks up excitedly. "I've been working on plans for a home décor line. Clothes don't interest me as they once did. It's time to branch out. Once the collection for this season is finalized, I'm going to devote my full attention to pieces for the home. I am thinking of starting with a line of convenient but stylish dinnerware." My mother looks at me with unabashed excitement before continuing, "I just love the design and concept phase of a collection. Coming up with ideas is tiring but oh so much fun."

My mother slips her heels back on and stands to leave but does not head directly for the door when she has her heels back on. She stands in front of me and looks directly into my eyes before stating, "They weren't stupid suggestions. I have always and will always value your input." My mother flips to the back of her book, pulls out a photo, and hands it to me. Before I have time to take in the picture she has already walked out of the sitting room and is on her way up the stairs. The black and white photo is a little blurry, but in it I can distinctly see a younger version of my mother smiling widely at the camera exhilarated as a tall, barefoot woman stands next to her wearing the shimmery silver dress I remember declaring "a winner" many years ago.


	4. Chapter 4 Darcy

**Author's Note: Yes, I know it's been more than two weeks, but these past few weeks have been hectic. I have been interviewing for medical school next fall and had to be out of town for three days. I also started tutoring on Saturdays which takes up a large portion of my writing time. This chapter and the next chapter were supposed to be all one chapter, but I thought it would be better to publish something now rather than wait another week to have the whole thing done. Be on the lookout next week for another chapter. Also, I promise Darcy and Nia will meet very soon.**

 **Also, I made a slight change in chapter one and two. The story takes place in October now instead of September and Darcy is planning on taking pictures on Saturday not Wednesday.**

 **Dizzy Lizzy.60: So, Fitzwilliam Darcy is Michael Darcy in this story, but I threw in a would be brother named William. Also, definitely going to use your list of hits in the 80's.**

 **Thank you everyone for the suggestions and kind words. They mean a lot to me.**

 **Stay Happy, Stay Golden**

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 **Chapter 4: Darcy**

"Now that Sophia is getting a divorce. You two could maybe…" My mother trails off as she raises her eyebrows and gives me a sly smile. She hovers over me as I adjust the aperture of my trusty Canon F-1 and motion the model to move more to his right. If it was anybody else, I would insist on them moving away from me so that I can concentrate, but one does not tell Mrs. Evelyn Elaine Darcy neé Richardson to move – definitely not at her own photo shoot.

Ignoring the sensation of ants crawling all over my skin brought on by the hovering, I look at the model through my camera lens. Bits of pine needles are strategically clinging to his jacket and hair. The whir of the snow fan provides soft ambient background noise amidst the commotion on set. My mother's usual photographer called in sick suddenly yesterday, so I volunteered to take the photos for today's shoot. The area had already been scouted and set up the day before, so all I have to do is find the right angles and snap the photos. We have been out here for three hours, but it seems more like five minutes to me. Photography has that effect on me. This is the last individual shot. A few more group shots and we will be done for the day. To fit with the January/February magazine theme of winter wonderland, we are surrounded by evergreens. It's only a little chilly, but the model is bundled up in a heavy winter coat and snow boots. The makeup girl keeps having to wipe away the sweat forming on his face. I zoom in a little and snap a few pictures. Click. Click. Click.

"Mother, our deal, remember?"

My mother lightly swats at my shoulder as I walk around to take another picture from a different angle. Click. "Pish-posh. I am your mother, normal deal-making rules do not apply to me."

I check the shot in the camera's viewfinder and then bend down in the grass to get a better angle. I move closer to the model, so I can zoom in on the details of his face, scarf, and hat. Although the coat is the main focus, it's rather ugly, so I want to focus on other aspects of the outfit – give my mom and her team some options when choosing the final prints. Hopefully, they will decide to make the scarf or hat the focal piece instead. "Fine, then I won't tell you about the new development in my love life." Click. Click.

I can hear the giddiness spilling over in my mother's voice as she exclaims, "As if you could keep anything from me. Tell me, what's happened? Did you ask Sophia out for dinner? Offer a shoulder to cry on that could become a little more. Or is it a new girl?" I smile and lower the camera signaling to the model and prep team that I'm ready for the next group. "William Darcy, tell me this instant!"

I walk away leaving my mother intrigued and confused. I point to a waiflike blonde woman with thick eyebrows and thin lips. "Can you tilt your chin further up… yeah, just like that. And you…" I point to a brunette with a long face and big, green eyes, "Can you angle your face more to your right. Yep, perfect." Click. Click. Click. I whisper to my mother, "I'll tell you after the shoot. I'm trying to work here."

Charlie and I met up last night, and he offered me an interesting proposition. I told him about my plans to expand the Pemberley Production company into different movie genres and he was all for it. He promises to star in all of the movies he can and to heavily promote the movies he can't be in. In return, he wants me to take his sister Caroline out on a date. I had to think long and hard before finally giving Charlie my answer. I have only met Caroline a handful of times while we were all growing up. Although she and Charlie are siblings, they could not be more unlike. Where Charlie is all smiles and too trusting, Caroline is calculated moves and skepticism. With the other women in our circle, Caroline is snooty and cold. She only ever talks to one other woman, Ms. Olivia Preston who recently married and is now Mrs. Hurst. Like most upper-class women in our town, Caroline is overly concerned with marrying well. Wanting nothing less than what she considers the best, she has set her eyes on me. I am constantly trying to dodge her advances and swerve her attention. Caroline is like a crocodile. When she sees someone that she wants, she quickly snaps onto him and does not let go. After all of these years of successfully avoiding being conned into a relationship with her, I am about to willingly put myself in the position to be tied down all for the sake of my company. Oh Pemberley, the lengths I will go for you.

"Caroline Caroline? Charlie's sister, Caroline?" My mother looks up at me perplexed. "But I thought you found her annoying. What happened?"

I pack up the last of my lighting equipment before focusing on my mother. "Call it a change of heart. Aren't you always saying to give people a chance before I judge?" The whole notion of dating Caroline as a favor to her brother doesn't seem entirely right. I don't want my mother thinking less of me for using someone so maliciously even if said person has done nothing to warrant kind behavior.

My mother looks into my eyes searching for something. When she can't seem to find it, she replies, "Well, darling, enjoy yourself tonight. Tell me all about it tomorrow. The season 3 premiere of Dynasty is on tonight. I must know what will happen to poor Cecil after his heart attack and of course little Blake."

I have no idea who these people are, but I give my mother an understanding nod and reply, "Of course. Poor Cecil and little Blake, of course."

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Six rapid knocks on the oak wood front door ring out like an alarm. KnockKnockKnockKnockKnockKnock. Silence, and then three heavy-handed bangs, more drawn out but just as urgent. Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Coming!" I yell, pulling on the ends of my bowtie so it sits straight under my collar. I take the steps two at a time and glance at myself in the hall mirror before I go to the door. My hair is still damp but everything else seems to be in order. I need to leave soon if I want to pick Caroline up in time, so hopefully whoever is at the door can come back tomorrow.

I fling open the door to reveal…

"Sophia? I was just heading out… is everything alright?"

"I had the most perfect idea for your next movie. Wait, why are you so dressed up?" Sophia takes a moment to glance over my dress slacks, slightly gelled hair, and neatly tied bowtie. "Oh my gosh, Will! I completely forgot about your date tonight. Are you excited?"

I let out a deep sigh and roll my eyes, "You mean Charlie's way of punishing me. Yeah, I'm jumping for joy."

"William! Stop! Don't be rude. Caroline is a nice girl. You could be doing a lot worse than her." Sophia takes a step away from the house. "My idea can wait. You have other things to worry about tonight. You can't leave poor Caroline sitting by her door waiting for you to show up."

"I'll call her and cancel," I state insouciantly. "I'll tell her that something important came up," I say turning back into the house to ring Caroline.

"No, Will. Don't use me as an excuse to miss your date. I can't let you do that to her. She was telling me how excited she is to finally be going out with you. Please, don't cancel on her." Sophia shakes her head and zones out for a moment. "I shouldn't have come. I'm always screwing things up for you."

Her statement throws me off guard, and before I can respond with a "You don't screw things up for me." Sophia quickly declares, "William Darcy, you will take Caroline out to dinner tonight. You will be engaging and charming and forget that I came here tonight. If Caroline says that you were anything but a perfect gentleman, then I will never talk to you again. Understood?"

"No, I –"

"I phrased it as a question, but it wasn't a suggestion. You're going on this date and that's final. No if, ands, or buts. I will see you tomorrow." With her piece said, Sophia ran back to her car and sped away from me before I could utter another word.

I wish I could just cancel. I am neither charming nor engaging. But I know Sophia, and she definitely meant what she said about not talking to me again if I am anything less than her definition of a gentleman to Caroline tonight. I have no choice but to see this thing through. I glance at my watch. I now have fifteen minutes to pick Caroline up. I most definitely will be late. An excellent way to start the evening.

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Charlie and Caroline still live in their family home. Not much has changed since childhood except the master bedroom remains locked and that part of the house has collected dust. The photos with Mr. and Mrs. Martin have been regulated to a single corner of the house. A lone family photo hangs in Caroline's room tucked away almost behind her bed. I saw it once when she tried to trap me in her room under the pretense that there was a cockroach under her bed that she was too scared to kill. Charlie has no pictures of either of his parents hanging in his room – he doesn't deal with grief well. We've only ever had a handful of conversations in regard to his parent's death. Thinking about their death makes him sad, and Charlie _hates_ feeling sad.

When I pull up to 256 Netherfield, Caroline is waiting in front of the door tapping her high-heeled foot. She is wearing a light pink dress, that I guess is fashionable these days and is bundled up in a fur coat. The bitter winds are blowing harder than usual today. Caroline has her hair in curls similar to the way my mother wears her hair, and her lips are a bright, cherry red. The worry shadowing her face immediately clears when she sees me pull up to her driveway and walk over to meet her on the front steps. Despite her cold exterior and clinginess in regard to me, Caroline really is stunning. Once she gives up on the silly notion of she and I ever being in any sort of relationship, the suitors will be knocking down her door for a chance to woo her.

"Hi William," She leans over and envelopes me in a hug. My arms remain limply at my side, uncomfortable with the physical touch. Then I remember Sophia's words, and I bring my arms up to awkwardly pat her lower back. "I was so worried something had happened to you."

"No, nothing," I replied trying to remain casual. "Should we get going?"

Caroline looks away demurely, "Oh, I thought you might want a tour of the house. It's been so long since you last saw it. I redecorated the parlor and –"

"No, I'm fine."

"Oh, um," flustered Caroline tries again, "How about a glass of water? I'm parched." She smiles coyly and places a hand on my arm to lead me in, but I deftly sidestep her.

"I'm good," I reply curtly annoyed with whatever she is attempting. "We should get going soon if we want to make our reservation time. I'll wait out here while you get your glass."

"Oh, but you know the owner of Corleone's. Can't you come whenever you want, reservation or no reservation?"

"Yes, but I told them we would be there at 7:30, so I don't want to inconvenience them if they planned around that time." This was mostly true. I did tell them that we would be there around 7:30, but there is no way that our arriving later would be an inconvenience since they reserve a special table specifically for my family.

Caroline looks at me with a face of defeat before quickly plastering on a smile. "That's alright, I'll drink something when we get to the restaurant." She quickly loops her arm through mine. "It's not far from here, right William?" She looks up at me waiting for a response as she walks us both to my car. Her heels click on the pavement as she walks, and I am dragged along. Again with the unsolicited touching.

"Yes," I mumble happy to finally be moving this thing along. I open the passenger door of my red BMW M1 for her and then jog around to the driver's side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caroline pull out a compact mirror and check her nose in it before I unlock the driver's side door and slide into my seat.

The drive to the restaurant is relatively painless. Caroline keeps up a steady stream of small-talk requiring minimal in the way of responses freeing me up to go over my mental checklist for tomorrow. Meeting with the head executive producer to discuss the timeline for our upcoming romantic comedy. Develop pictures from Mother's photo shoot. Visit tailor for a new suit jacket.

"You haven't said much since we started driving. Is everything alright, William?" Caroline places a hand on my shoulder, and I resist the urge to flinch away. Her voice is filled with worry, and for a moment I wonder if she is asking out of genuine concern.

"Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind."

Caroline is quiet for a moment before glancing over at me. "Then let's just enjoy the rest of the ride." She doesn't say it with sarcasm. True to her word, the rest of the car ride is driven in comfortable silence.

The plan for tonight is to get dinner at Corleone's and then head over to Club 52 to meet up with Charlie. I am planning on dropping Caroline off with Charlie and then heading home. This way I can avoid the whole awkward walk to the front door and the to kiss or not to kiss bullshit. Once we meet up with Charlie, I'll suddenly develop a nasty stomachache and head for the door to avoid vomiting on anyone. I will move quickly so that Caroline does not have a chance to follow me out or worry over me. Charlie already knows that we are showing up and already agreed to take Caroline home if I was too fed up to drop her off at home myself.

"Signore William. Ah, we have missed you, sir. You must come to see your friends more often."

We arrive at the restaurant and the owner, Signore Michael Corleone Sr. himself, shows us to our private table in the back. The table is set up with all of the trimmings. Two candles in short glasses flicker in the middle of the table surrounded by red rose petals. Between the candles in all of its ostentatious glory sits a gaudy display of pink carnations and roses flowing over the clear glass filled almost to the top with water. Specks of dirt and tiny pieces of fallen leaves float in the otherwise clear liquid.

"Wow, William. This place setting is so romantic."

"You are Mr. William's lady friend, no. You are on, how you say, a date." Signore Corleone reaches out for Caroline's hand to, I presume, kiss it in greeting. Caroline swiftly moved her hand behind her back and steps back slightly. Besides a slight stumble, Signore Corleone does not seem too thrown off by the slight. Even though his face does not convey anger, I know that he feels belittled by Caroline's rejection of his friendly gesture.

"Caroline" she breezily replies in lieu of a hand kiss. She then walks to her seat and expectantly waits for me to pull out her chair. I look at Signore Corleone expressing an apology with my eyes before going to assist Caroline. Signore Corleone murmurs something about bringing out a bottle of wine before disappearing through the kitchen double doors. I take my seat across from Caroline. Before I can reprimand her for her rudeness, she immediately pulls her chair closer to mine, puts a hand on my forearm, and begins to extol the virtues of this "charming" little spot. Her use of the words quaint and cute come across more like sarcastic insults than boundless praise. Yes, this is not the fanciest restaurant in town, but the food is beyond amazing, and I can always assure that I will have a secluded table and the finest service. I should have known that a girl like Caroline would not be satisfied with anything less than a 5-star restaurant buzzing with society elites and maybe a camera or two.

Caroline orders an appetizer for us both to share and then insists on ordering the same main course as I do – the penne pasta Bolognese. She plays around with both dishes and takes no more than three dainty bites from each. Every time she swallows, she takes a sip of wine and wipes the corner of her mouth with the cloth napkin in her lap. She carries most of the conversation which does not leave her much time to enjoy her food, but even still it is unnerving how methodically she eats.

After our main course is cleared away, Caroline orders a bowl of fruit and chocolate for dessert even though she claimed to be too full to eat another bite after the third forkful of her main course.

"William, you simply must try this berry. It's absolutely divine." Caroline pushes the fork towards my mouth in the hopes that I will open up. I scrunch up my face and pull back. This is worse than the unsolicited touching.

"Thank you, Caroline but I'm fine. I promise."

"Oh, but William I simply cannot eat all of this fruit and chocolate by myself. You must help me. At least try the chocolate."

I let out a heavy sigh before picking up a piece of chocolate with my fork, popping it into my mouth, and chewing it aggressively. It is amazing chocolate. Very smooth and rich with a spicy kick. Seeing the look of appreciation coloring my face, Caroline pushes another piece of chocolate towards me.

"Amazing, right?" I pluck the chocolate off of her fork and pop it into my mouth. I am still not comfortable enough to allow her to feed me, but I don't want to let such an amazing delicacy go to waste.

Caroline leans towards me picking up fruit and chocolate and pushing it towards my mouth. I don't let her feed me, but I pick off the pieces she puts in front of me. Caroline continues to express her appreciation for the fresh, juicy fruit and the mouth-watering chocolate but apart from her two bites in the beginning, I finish the dessert myself.

Once the bowl is empty, I signal the waiter for the check and pay for the meal. Signore Corleone gives us a wave goodbye as we exit, but the reserved wave seems foreign from a man who usually says goodbye by giving me a hearty slap on the back and telling me to stop being such a stranger. Caroline does not even acknowledge the wave as she makes her way back to my car and we take off for Club 52.

When I enter the club, my senses are immediately assaulted. Bright, flashing lights almost blind me, the thumping bass splits my eardrums, and the smell of alcohol threatens to send me into a bout of nausea. I want to be sick. I need to find Charlie, drop of Caroline, and high-tail it back home. I turn to Caroline and see that her nose is upturned in disgust. Tonight, Club 52 despite its reputation as a high-class club is a far cry from the dignified dinners and fancy functions our people usually attend.

"Why is everyone here so… common? Ugh. They usually have standards for who they let in."

I nod in agreement. I have been to Club 52 a few times with Charlie, and it is usually a lot more dignified. We usually sit in a booth towards the back and drink scotch. The music selection varies but is never this loud. There is always a crowd of people but never so many that one feels caged in. Right now, I can't go two steps without bumping into someone or something. "Let's just find Charlie," I yell over the ear-splitting music.

Couples gyrate on the floor. Girls sway on too high heels and guys with greasy, slicked back hair chat up women way out of their leagues. The floor is wet with spilled liquor and bodies are haphazardly slumped over chairs and tables.

"Charlie!" I yell out. I have finally spotted him. I grab Caroline's arm and drag her to the spot at the bar where her brother stands swirling a rum and coke and talking up a redhead. He turns to look at me, startled by the interruption. When he sees me, his whole face lights up. He excuses himself from the redhead and comes bounding over to me, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug and laughing joyously. He is most definitely drunk.

"Darce! I've missed you. I'm so glad you're here. There are so many pretty girls."

Caroline scoffs in disbelief as her brother starts to pull me away completely ignoring her.

"Oh sorry, Caroline. I forgot you both are on a date." Charlie makes air quotes with his fingers when he says date and rolls his eyes.

"What's that supposed mean, Charlie? William asked me out on his own free will."

"No, he didn't," Charlie chuckles and points a finger at Caroline, "He asked you out because I told him too, duh."

For a moment Caroline looks completely bewildered and even a little hurt. She quickly covers it up and replies, "Well, it doesn't matter why he did. We had an amazing time, and we are going out again next week." Caroline looks to me for confirmation, but I stare back at her confused.

"When did we make plans to meet up again?"

"Well," Caroline begins, her confidence faltering, "I just thought since we had such a great time you would want to ask me out again. We did have a great time, right?"

Charlie looks at me expectantly eyebrows raised. I know he doesn't mean to cause any trouble or hurt anybody's feelings, but Damn you, Charlie for being such a careless drunk.

"Caroline, I… tonight was…"

Caroline continues to look at me expectantly, hoping that I will acquiesce and agree to a second date next week. The end of the evening was enjoyable, but the beginning was barely tolerable. Caroline is extremely self-centered and calculating. I don't know if I can stomach another date, and I definitely don't want to give the impression that this can become anything more.

I freeze unsure of how to proceed. The silence that follows is even more palpable amidst the loud music and merriment occurring in the background. I feel like a deer caught in headlights with nowhere to hide.

"The strawberries and chocolate we had were delicious."

Caroline scoffs again clearly offended by my lack of affection for her or our time together. "I'm going to call a taxi and go home. Goodnight, William." And before I can amend my statement or butcher an apology, Caroline turns on her pink heels and walks out the club doors. I turn to follow her so that I can offer her a ride home, but Charlie reaches out and grabs my arm.

"Oh shit, Darce I'm sorry. I have no filter when I've had too much to drink. Can you apologize to her for me? I didn't think about what I was saying."

"Of course, Charlie," I grimace already dreading the tension filled car ride I was about to endure all because drunk Charlie does not think before he speaks.

"Thankssss buddy. You're the bess friend in the world. I would go myself this very instant, but there are so many beautiful girls here tonight. The rules are a lot more laid back on Wednesday nights so girls who usually don't come are here. Such a refresher from the usually snobby crowd." He meant to say girls who usually aren't allowed in.

The more lax standard explains the low-class crowd that showed up tonight. I look around at the other clubgoers with my nose scrunched up. "There is nothing refreshing about desperate, sweaty masses of people." I turn away from Charles and head towards the exit hoping that Caroline's cab has not arrived yet.

"Not true," Charlie quipped, "I've met loads of amazing women the Wednesdays I've been here. Really talented women too." Charlie pulls on my arm again. "If you remove the stick from your ass, you might find a girl here that can stomach being in a relationship with you."

"No, Charlie, I doubt that. All of these women are a bunch of gold diggers with no class." Now Charlie is starting to approach touchy territory. I always hate when he brings up my lack of relationship expertise and general lack of social skills.

"You can't stand girls like Caroline, but you're too good for normal, common girls. What exactly are you looking for? Who meets your standards? I mean, you're a tough guy to please Mr. Darcy." Charlie says it with an air of good-natured teasing, but my worry for Caroline and my claustrophobia are keeping me from seeing the humor. I am fed up with Charlie and want to simply get home and curl up with company ledgers and letters.

A drunk girl stumbles into me, and I step away from her as she giggles out an apology. Her makeup is smeared, and her dress is raised slightly higher than appropriate. Before she can say something flirty, I step away from her and move closer to Charlie. Another girl reaches out and grabs the sloppy girl keeping her upright. I look away from both of them in disgust. As I shake free of Charlie, I retort, "I don't know why you hang around these disgusting people. They're all just a bunch of whores."

"Darcy!" Charlie's eyes go wide as he looks back to the two girls probably still stumbling towards the bathroom.

I roll my eyes and mutter a whatever as I push away from Charlie to the exit. Those girls are probably too drunk to even realize that I am talking about them.


	5. Chapter 5 Lizzy

**Author's Note: I found it so hard to write in Nia's voice for this chapter. I feel like I have a hang on Darcy's voice. I can imagine him in my head – how he responds to situations, his pet peeves, his strengths, weaknesses, etc., but I'm still figuring that out with Nia. Also, I re-read Pride and Prejudice for inspiration and I never realized how uninteresting Jane Austen's Mary is (Amanda in my story). She's average looking with average musical abilities even though she works really hard at her craft, also she's socially inept and a little arrogant.**

 **Also, re-reading Darcy and Elizabeth's scenes, I totally see how Darcy thought Elizabeth was in love with him too. She thought she was being snarky but the way she phrases things could easily be seen as playful flirting ie. when she mentions that she walks the path at Rosings often expecting him to avoid it, but he read it as 'walk this path so we can see each other more often'.**

 **Anyway, thank you again for taking the time to read, favorite, review, and follow my work. I appreciate the support. I made small edits to chapter 2 (just changed newspaper to magazine) nothing worth re-reading the chapter over).**

 **Stay Happy, Stay Golden!**

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 **Chapter 5** **: Lizzy**

"Dear Nancy, the other women in my neighborhood are intentionally leaving me out of their get-togethers. I watch through my window and see them all heading to Annie May or Betty Lou's house with cookies and pies. Nobody ever invites me. I know that they're jealous because my husband makes more money than theirs and I have nicer clothes, but I can't help that, now can I? They don't know how to act around me because I'm basically a celebrity – on account of my being much wealthier and classier than they. How do I let them know that I don't mind having poor friends? I get awfully lonely sitting in my big house all by my lonesome. Sincerely, Mrs. Lonely."

"Dear Mrs. Lonely, maybe if you stop being so self-centered and annoying your neighbors will want to invite you to their parties. Fix your messed-up attitude or stay alone. Ya feel?" I look up from my typewriter and gaze at the wooden slabs lining the ceiling. I have been working on this piece for the past two hours with no success.

This week's inquiries to Dear Nancy include a litany of particularly privileged problems. There are always one or two borderline insane questions, but I can usually muster up responses equal parts biting reality and witty quips. This week's answers have all been biting reality with none of the humorous quips. Answers guaranteed to endear no one to Dear Nancy. I know that our readers tend to err on the born-with-a-silver-spoon side, but have they always been this…snobby? Maybe my fight with Jim Barnes opened my eyes wider, but I am especially taken aback by the drivel I am tasked with answering this week. The thought of having to write for this column for the rest of my life makes me want to claw my eyeballs out. I just cannot do this anymore.

"Ugh!" I heavily sigh as I crumple up the column I just wasted my time typing and toss it behind the door. I let out another labored, over-dramatic sigh before heaving myself out of my desk chair.

Ever since my meeting with Jim Barnes, all of my pieces have been angry and bitter sounding. No matter how much I try, I can't get out of this negative headspace. I'm so mad that I let him get to me like this. I give him this power over me, and I let him define my worth as a writer. I appreciate the opportunity to write for such a prestigious magazine, but at the same time I have bigger dreams to pursue.

"I'm so over this."

"Elizabeth, sweetie, what's wrong?" Janet glides into the room her hair pin curled up and her dress billowing around her legs as she moves. She daintily sits on the edge of our bed and crosses her ankles before turning to give me her full attention.

"Everything I write has been trash. I can't hit the right note on any of these pieces. Also, the problems for this week have been ridiculous. Why are all of my readers so entitled? Why can't somebody write in with a problem that _isn't_ due to a character flaw? Like, am I asking for too much?"

"Oh sweetie," Janet gets up from her perch and takes both of my hands in hers. "I always thought you have way more potential than that magazine you write for. Do you want to quit?"

I take a deep breath, debating if I want to share my hesitation with my sister. "I've thought about quitting a lot, but I don't want to quit until I have something else lined up. I've applied for some position and submitted some of my pieces to different magazines and newspapers, but so far, nothin'. I haven't had time to really put effort into writing anything new, so I've been submitting old pieces. Nothing timely. It's frustrating because I need to quit to have time to work on my writing, but this job with Jim Barnes is the only way I can save up money for classes, so I can get better at my writing. Ugh, maybe I should just quit and get married like mom is always telling us to do."

Janet laughs. "Oh Lizzy, you can't be serious. Give up writing and settle down before your career's taken off? Not on my watch." Janet pauses to think for a moment. "You need a break. Amanda is talking about checking out some club uptown. It's usually really exclusive, but she has an in for tonight. It's a real ritzy place. We'll have a girl's night. It'll be so much fun!"

I consider it for a moment. "James isn't coming?"

Janet looks away from me. "No, he's busy tonight. He's already left." I know that busy is codeword for hanging out with those no good Dosesee boys, but I don't push the issue further. I'll have to chew him out the next time I see him.

"Amanda said that there are executive types hanging out at this club. Directors and publishers. You might be able to meet your future editor tonight. You don't want to miss your destiny, do you?" Janet bites her lip excitedly and raises her eyebrows waiting for my response.

I smile up at her. "Alright, you've convinced me. I'll join ya'll for a bit. Who's driving?"

Janet looks at me knowingly, "Don't worry I'm driving. I won't be drinking, so I'll be right as rain to drive everybody back. Lianna will be sitting in the back on the way home so any _distractions_ she might cause will be contained to the backseat."

I laugh. "Good, cause I'm not having a repeat of last time when she threw up all over the dash and Amanda freaked out and almost hit a lamppost."

Janet is full out laughing too. "Oh no. I'll never forget Amanda's face when she hopped out of the car onto the highway screaming about being covered in puke. There was maybe one drop on her sleeve."

"Not even that," I yell. "I'm pretty sure Lianna missed her entirely and got all of it on the jacket I let her borrow. Thank God for pre-soaking in ammonia or I'd have taken Lianna's store earnings for the year to buy a new one."

"She is definitely not drinking tonight. We have to take turns watching her. I didn't want her to come, but Momma insisted we bring her too. We can't leave _poor Lianna_ _sitting by herself bored and all alone_."

"Our mother is ridiculous. She's the only mother in the world who actively advocates for her underage daughter to go out and get drunk in strange places."

Janet shrugs at my statement and begins rifling through my closet looking for something acceptable for me to wear. She pulls out a green dress and tosses it to me. "Hurry up and get dressed, so I can do your hair."

It takes us under an hour to be ready and soon we're in the car waiting for Lianna who forgot her fake ID. You have to be 18 to enter this club, so Amanda made it by a few weeks and of course, Janet and I are safe. The drive to the club is long but Lianna entertains us with outrageous stories from her week and Amanda sings us a few verses from a new song she's working on. We park the car a little way from the club entrance and make it inside without a hitch.

"Ohhh, this is my jam!" Lianna yells over the thumping music before bopping her way onto the dance floor. Within minutes she is surrounded by men eager to dance with her and buy her drinks.

"I'll keep an eye on her," I state with an eye roll as I watch Lianna take a cup offered to her by a complete stranger. Before she can down the contents, I elbow my way in and grab the cup out of her hand.

"Hey!" Lianna yells pawing at the drink in my hand.

"Only water and non-alcoholic fruit juice tonight. You're way too young to be drinking liquor. Remember what happened last time you got drunk? Yeah, that's what I thought. Also, don't take cups from strangers."

Lianna lets out a heavy sigh. "Fiiiinne." She turns to the guy she had previously been dancing with. "My sister is being a buzzkill. Can you buy me a _coke_?" She makes sure to pointedly enunciate coke, so I know how stupid she finds my rules. Then she looks up at the guy with wide innocent eyes, and he hurriedly nods his head and leads her to the bar. I guess that's the best I can do for Lianna right now. I've lost sight of Janet and Amanda, so I bounce along the edge of the dance floor while keeping an eye on Lianna. She's back out on the dance floor, once again surrounded by men vying for her attention. She's like a man magnet. I take a seat at the bar and survey my surroundings. I've only ever been to some local clubs in our area and they're usually full of people from the neighborhood dancing to the funky tunes of James Brown and Diana Ross while drinking moonshine crafted by someone's Uncle Tyrone.

This club…this club is different. The demographics are all over the place. Everybody's talking to everybody as if color divides don't exist. The DJ is playing a mix of music. Some I don't know, but most of it is songs by singers I do know. They play this one song I really like "Don't Stop Believing," and I can't help but smile. This place seems like a middle ground, a true melting pot. Under the influence of alcohol and whatever else is floating around, everybody seems more tolerant, more open.

"What are you doing sitting all by yourself? Pretty as you are, I can't believe I made it to you before the pack of men descended." I am thrown back by the smooth-talking guy in front of me. He's dressed in a sharp suit and his hair is neatly combed out. He extends a hand and I take it just as the song is shifting. The song changes to my favorite song of all time, Thriller.

"I love this song," I yell to my partner as I start to sway to the beat. When the words start, I hit every move I saw in the music video including the infamous hands up, dead man's walk to each side. My partner, whose name I find out is Jeremiah can hold his own pretty well. A good portion of the dance floor is dancing along with us. When the song is over, people come over to praise my dancing skills and Jeremiah asks for a couple more dances. Before long, I'm sweating and all grooved out.

"Lianna!" I exclaim in a panic. I've completely forgotten about watching her.

"Who," Jeremiah asks. I think he was in the middle of saying something or asking something, but I am too concerned about Lianna to try and figure out what he might have said.

"My little sister. I'm supposed to be watching her. Making sure she doesn't drink or take any drugs. I'm sorry. It was nice meeting you, but I have to find her." In a hurry, I rush back to the bar to see if she's maybe there. I search the row of chairs but don't see anybody resembling Lianna and her wild head of curls. After a few seconds of searching while standing on a barstool, I get a feeling as to where she might be. Once I run into the women's bathroom, I discover that my hunch is correct.

I smell Lianna before I see her. Putrid alcohol and tonight's dinner are being retched from her stomach into the porcelain toilet underneath her. Her dress is hiked up and strands of her hair are in the toilet bowl. Her shoes are sitting next to her and her arms are draped over the toilet. If I wasn't so mad at her, I might express more empathy for her current situation.

I rush into the stall and examine her. Her eyes are a little bloodshot.

"Lizzyyyy, where'd the music go?"

"Come on, we're going home." I pull her up by her armpits and lean her against me as we stumble out of the bathroom.

"Why are you always such a buzzkill? I'm fine. I'm fine!" Lianna pushes away from me and starts to stumble by herself. "See, I can… I can walk allllll byyyyyyy myyyyyyself." Lianna goes a few more steps before slumping onto a wall. "Completely and totally okay."

"Sure. You look completely fine," I sardonically reply as I grab her arm again.

"No, Liz. I don't need help." Lianna pulls away from me again and stumbles into a tall man with his back to us. He isn't holding a drink to spill, Thank God.

"Good thing you were there to stop my fall," Lianna giggles as the man jumps away from her in total disgust. I grab Lianna's arm before she can walk back over to the guy and embarrass us further.

Before I can apologize for her, the guy looks at his friend and spits out, "I don't know why you hang around these disgusting people. They're all just a bunch of whores."

"Darcy!" The other man replies as the rude jerk pushes past him and heads towards the club entrance. I don't get a good look at his face before he leaves, but hopefully, I never have to see that man again.

Disgusting people… Whores… Really? It's a club, there are drunk people. I get being angry if Lianna spilled something on him or did some serious damage, but his angry language was completely uncalled for.

A man's voice breaks my reverie. "I am so sorry you had to hear that. He's not usually like that. I think something happened. I don't know. That's still no excuse for his behavior. He's usually a standup guy."

"Yeah, he seems like a real swell fella." I sarcastically reply, smiling and tossing my arm to the other side in a gesture of fake sincerity as I watch the irate man walk towards the club exit.

The man still looks embarrassed, so I cut him some slack and extend my hand out for a shake. "I'm Elizabeth. Lizzy for short. I promise I'm not trying to get anywhere near Hollywood."

"Charlie Martin. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Behind a flurry of people, Janet comes rushing over to me. I turn away from Charlie and towards Janet when she shouts out my name.

"Lizzy, I've been looking for you all over. Where have you been?"

Janet looks over my shoulder at Charlie, and then the Earth shifts into perfect alignment, the polarity of gravity reverses and pigs everywhere develop wings and fly… or something like that. Janet and Charlie make eye contact, and a magnetic force draws them closer and repels me away from the field. Soon they are directly in front of each other.

"Charlie."

"Janet."

I listen to their conversation for a bit, before going off to find Amanda, Lianna in tow.

"You have just the look for movies. Have you ever acted or modeled? You'd be an amazing actress."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't be any good."

"Oh, yes, you definitely would be. Your face could sell manure if you put it on an ad."

Janet laughs with the girlish giggle she reserves for suitors like Mr. Moore. The one that is genuine enough to make the guys think that they are the next Eddie Murphy, but fake enough not to require too much effort.

"You just have a really… trusting face. I mean you're beautiful, don't get me wrong, but you're also so much more. Sorry, I'm rambling. You don't even know me." Charlie chuckles softly and runs his hand through his hair.

Janet is at a complete loss for words. I don't think she's ever met a man who didn't try to compare her to some Greek goddess. A man who used an adjective to describe her that was not synonymous to pretty.

I leave the happy couple be and go out in search of Amanda. I spot her sitting at a table in the corner looking sullen.

"Lianna's drunk, we have to go now. What happened to you?"

"Nobody was interested in my demo or coming to one of my shows. Most of them wouldn't even give me more than a cursory glance before moving on to talk to some stunning blonde or busty brunette. It's hopeless Lizzy." Amanda throws her hands up in defeat and then drops them onto the table to cradle her tear-streaked face.

"I'm so sorry, Amanda, but this is not the place to cry. It's gross and grimy in here. Let's get Janet and head home so you can tell me more." Amanda stands up and thankfully grabs Lianna's other arm assisting me with dragging the semi-conscious, still slightly struggling Bennet back to Janet so that we can all leave together.

Amanda spots Janet and Charlie first and beelines towards them pulling Lianna and I with her.

"Janet, we have to go."

"Oh Amanda. Lizzy, I didn't realize you left. And… oh, Lianna." Janet looks down at Lianna disapprovingly before hastily turning to Charlie. "It was so nice meeting you, but I have to go with my family."

"What were the two of you talking so intently about?" Amanda asks curiosity getting the better of her.

"I was just letting this angelic lady know how she would make an amazing actress or model. Heck if she can carry a tune and stay on beat, she would make an amazing singer and dancer too. I'd love you to meet my agent. He would definitely want to sign you. Also, I'm Charlie by the way."

"I have to pee," Lianna exclaims as she squirms under my tight grip.

"Okay, let's get you to the bathroom, so we can all go home. Come on Amanda. Janet, you stay here, we'll be right out." I drag Lianna back to the bathroom, Amanda in tow. My biceps will be very well-defined after all of the dragging I'm doing.

"Are you sure?" Janet whispers out of earshot of Charlie. "I should help you."

"No, stay," I casually reply, "Go ahead, flirt, network, whatever you want to call it. Don't pass up your opportunity to be a star. I'm as sober as judge. I've dealt with Lianna in much worse states, so I'll be fine. We'll be quick. Stay here and get his number." I smile.

We move through the bathroom line quickly and leave Lianna in the stall by herself while we stand right outside the door.

"See," Amanda looks down at me with forlorn eyes and a resigned frown, "I've been coming to this club trying to get discovered for months. Janet shows up once, gets hit on by everybody and gets signed to some hotshot label. My showbiz career is at its plateau. This is as good as it gets for someone like me."

"Hey, we don't know if Charlie is legit. We just met the guy. He seems nice enough but who's to say he doesn't deliver pizza for a living. We don't know. Besides, Amanda, you're so talented. You have so much more to achieve. You have – "

Amanda holds up her hands to silence me. "Thanks for trying to cheer me up Lizzy, but you and I both know that I'm no Janet. Agents are searching for a specific kinda look and I don't got it."

I frantically think of what to say to combat Amanda's defeatist speech. "Amanda, you have so much to offer the world. Not everybody cares so much about looks. Hey, at least you got your foot in the door with the hotshots that come to Old Blue's."

Amanda looks away and sighs. "Yeah, well, I'm afraid it might never get past the door."

I don't know what I can say to make her feel better, so I let the silence between us grow. It lingers awkwardly despite the loud music and yelling all around us. Lianna comes out and washes her hands, and I pretend to fuss over her to combat the awkward silence that engulfed us.

"I think I'm going to head to the car with Lianna. Keep her from getting into any major trouble while you get Janet. I'll see you in a bit?"

Before I can even say "yeah sure", Amanda has walked away from me pulling a still stumbling Lianna with her. I am left standing in the middle of a crowded bathroom wondering if I said the right thing. I shake out of my funk and go looking for Janet. She is right where we left her still being chatted up by that Charlie fellow. I watch my sister smile and nod with a look of captivation. I go over and link arms with her.

"I'm going to have to steal my sister away from you Charlie you've been talking to her long enough."

Charlie looks a little flustered as he sputters, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to monopolize you. Of course, yeah, steal away. Oh, but first, when, where can I see you again?"

"You said to stop by the studio anytime, right?"

"Yeah, the humongous building on the corner of Linden and Pemberley. You can't miss it. I'm usually there working in the afternoons during the week, but if you come on a Saturday, I can give you the full tour and introduce you to everybody."

"Okay, I'll try to make it up there this Saturday."

A huge smile breaks out across Charlie's face as excited energy radiates from him. Then as an afterthought, he throws in, "And of course, Lizzy you're welcome to come as well."

I smile back but reply, "I think my skills are better suited behind the camera, not in front of it. I'm too blunt for performing; all the subtlety of a freight train." I pause considering if I should mention Amanda. I throw caution to the wind and bring her up anyway. "My sister, Amanda, on the other hand, is a natural-born performer. I'm sure she'd have a cow if she could be on a real movie set."

"Yes, sure, the more the merrier." He turns to Janet, "Bring her with you when you visit."

"Will do," Janet smiles. "Saturday?"

"Saturday."

"Bye."

"Bye."

"Oh brother," I exclaim as Janet allows me to pull her towards the exit. If I left it up to her, she would stay here making googly eyes at Charlie until the sun came up.

"See you Saturday." Janet declares before turning and following me.

"Saturday!" Charlie shouts at our retreating backs, and I roll my eyes at the dramatics of it all.


	6. Chapter 6 Darcy

**Author's Note: Wow! It's been a while. I have been writing this chapter FOREVER! Between the holidays and late nights at work, I haven't had the time to sit down and write. I'm so glad this chapter is out of the way though. I feel like the story can really start now. I will have some more free time in the upcoming weeks, so I'm going to challenge myself to post a new chapter a week until the end of February. I really need to push myself to do better and not be so lazy with my writing.**

 **I hope everyone had a great time celebrating the holidays. I hope it was filled with food, fun, and family. Also, a Happy 2019 to everyone. I'm excited for this year creative wise, but something about it feels off. I don't know why.**

 **As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read, favorite, and review my work, as a novice writer it means the world to me. Hopefully there's not too many grammar mistakes. I stayed up until 3am to finish it.**

 **Stay Happy, Stay Golden!**

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 **Chapter 6** **: Darcy**

"Darce, I'm in love."

I roll my eyes and continue looking through the financial ledgers. I like to double-check the numbers every Friday just to make sure I know exactly how the money is being spent. I also like to look over everything before I sign off on the payroll. Crunching the numbers and seeing where we can be more efficient with the money is one of my favorite parts of running Pemberley Productions.

I flip to the next packet of papers detailing the budget for our upcoming crime drama show. We moved into the television arena about three years ago, and it has been so much easier to produce television shows than movies from a financial standpoint. Filming for a series is much cheaper than feature films, and there's not as much marketing gamble. Shows that don't do well can just get budget cuts whereas movies that don't do well have already been paid for and nothing can be done to recover the millions lost.

"Mhhm, Charlie. I remember you saying the same thing about the brunette and the blonde before that."

"No, Darcy this is different. Marilyn and I had different definitions of monogamy and the _brunette_ and I had irreconcilable compatibility issues… as you well know."

Charlie "falls in love" every few months – usually with whichever co-star he is currently working with. His propensity for getting tangled up in all-consuming, whirlwind romances is great for boosting movie ticket sales, but not so great for his health when the relationship inevitably crashes and burns. Thankfully for him, I always manage to find time in my schedule for a therapy session which usually involves hitting baseballs in the park or aggressively punching sandbags.

Our last session was particularly grueling. Charlie had just split with a tall brunette. Once the movie press conferences had wrapped, she decided that as a serious actress she must only be linked with brooding, pensive _dark-haired_ actors. As a blonde, Charlie was just not serious enough for her. She probably read something along the lines of "Your career is about to take off, girl. Some people in your life won't be able to handle that. Don't fret. Keep doing you and let the naysayers fall away," in her horoscope and immediately labeled Charlie as an unserious naysayer.

"Charlie, you might say that this girl is different, but if you're professing your love for her this early on, this relationship will end up the same as the others."

These sessions with Charlie are extremely draining. Charlie feels every emotion very acutely. When he meets a new potential love interest, he's on top of the world, unstoppable; but when said girl breaks his heart, he can become almost suicidal. Opportunistic women seek Charlie out because he's kind and unassuming. He's a hot star right now, and paparazzi is always jumping at the bit for scandalous photos of him and his new lover. So many women have used Charlie to advance their careers and then thrown him away when they get their first bite of fame, but I am always there to make sure they don't get too far in the industry.

"Darce, you'd understand if you met her at the club the other night. She's an angel. She'd never break my heart or play with my emotions like those other girls."

So, this wasn't a co-star. This was a woman he met in that God-forsaken club. This woman probably doesn't even have any talent. I roll my eyes in disgust and reply, "Didn't I warn you that all the girls in that club are just trying to sleep their way into show business?"

This time, Charlie rolls his eyes. "Janet is different. She doesn't want to do anything Hollywood. She was surprised I even suggested she should model. God, she's so pretty. I wish you had seen her before you made your rude exit." Charlie momentarily pauses before he adds, "You know her sister heard what you said and didn't appreciate being called a whore."

Without looking up from my papers and files, I reply, "Well, I'll apologize the next time I see her. And then when she and her sister do turn out to be gold-diggers, I'll even refrain from telling you 'I told you so.'"

There is silence for a moment as Charlie decides whether to pursue the topic further or switch subjects.

"I'm sorry about the way I acted the other night at the club. I was a real asshole. The worst part is, I thought I was being funny or something. I had to convince Caroline that I had been talking about a different girl. I lied and told her that I asked you to take a co-star out on a fake date as a favor, but I was so drunk, I got confused and falsely said that your guy's date was the fake one. I also told her that your ineptitude regarding normal social conventions kept you from extolling her virtues and expressing your appreciation for the remarkable night you both shared together."

I let out a huff of air as I look up at my well-meaning friend. "So now Caroline thinks that I harbor an inexpressible affection for her? Now she is probably waiting for me to ask her on another date, and if I don't ask her, she'll just think that my awkwardness is preventing me from mustering up the courage to speak to the woman I am so desperately in love with. Thanks, Charlie. You're such a great friend."

"Oh, well, I wasn't thinking about that. I just didn't want Caroline to think that either of us are jerks. Hmm, I'll find a way to fix this. I'll set her up with somebody else."

"No, Charlie. Your idea of fixing things usually involves elaborate plans that make the situation ten times worse. I think the best thing is to just ignore it. I am extremely busy with the expansion and my new project, so I have valid reasons for avoiding Caroline in the foreseeable future."

A big smile breaks out across Charlie's face and his eyes twinkle with excitement. "New project? You didn't tell me about any new projects."

Oh, crap. I did not mean to mention that. I am trying to keep my idea for a documentary about the town as quiet as possible.

"Because it's nothing special. I'm just taking some pictures. When does shooting start for your new movie? Have they found you a co-star yet?"

Charlie shakes his head and moves to lean over my desk. "Nope, not going to hide this from me. This project must be more than just random pictures if it is going to take up your time. I'm not going to stop asking, so stop trying to change the subject and just tell me."

I let a heavy sigh and give in. Like a dog with a bone, Charlie was not going to let this one go.

As nonchalantly as I can, I tell him, "I want to do a photo documentary series highlighting town landmarks." I stand and walk to the filing cabinet near the bookshelf to store the copy of the financial ledger and payroll information for the week. "Are you hungry? I think I'm ready for lunch."

"What made you want to showcase the town?"

I turn the lock on the cabinet and put the ring of keys back in my pocket. Like I said, dog with a bone. "I was driving one day, when I saw this girl sitting in this field I had never seen before. It made me realize that despite living here my entire life, there are so many places I've never explored. I did some research and there's actually a lot of historic spots in Healdsburg that no one ever talks about or visits."

Charlie looks at me slyly before asking, "Did you talk to the girl?"

"What? What girl?"

"You mentioned a girl." He shrugs. "And I want to know if you talked to her or just watched her like a creepy stalker."

I sputter out, "I did not watch her like a creepy stalker." I only watched her long enough to take the picture.

"So, as per usual, you didn't actually interact with her."

"I just mentioned her because she happened to be in the field that I passed. I didn't stop at the field _because_ of the girl. I didn't even really notice her. I was focused on the scenery, not her. Why would I talk to a random stranger?"

Charlie raises his eyebrows and smirks. "The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks." I stare back at him with a set jaw and steely eyes. I don't like being made fun of. Charlie puts his hands up in surrender and laughs off any remaining tension. "I just got excited because I thought the romance hating William Darcy had found a woman who lived up to his impossible standards. I didn't mean any harm. I was only teasing."

I relax my jaw and look away from Charlie. "I just don't like being called a creepy stalker."

There is silence again as Charlie thinks of his next question. I actually am starving so I ask Charlie again if he wants to grab something to eat, and when he replies in the affirmative, we both head to a French restaurant near Pemberley. The waitress who takes our orders fumbles nervously after realizing that she is serving _the_ Charles Martin. Charlie being the charmer that he is, basks in the attention and uses it to his advantage.

"Hey, doll. I know it's not breakfast time anymore, but I'd be over the moon if you could get me a couple of strawberry beignets."

"Oh, of course, Mr. Martin. We usually save some for the staff to take home, but I'm sure they won't mind if I get you a few.

The waitress quickly returns with a full plate of beignets, croissants, and freshly baked bread. Wherever he goes, Charlie always finds a way to charm somebody into giving him free food.

"I brought back as many as I could find."

"Thanks Elyse. Elyse that's such a pretty name. I think my friend and I are ready to order. I'll have the chef's special and Darce will have the…"

"The salmon and another glass of wine."

"Coming right up Mr. Martin and Mr. Martin's friend." I don't even look up at the waitress as she flounces off.

"Doll? It's like you can't help yourself. Do you have any control over the words that come out of your mouth when you talk to a fan?"

Charlie waves his hand dismissively. "Eh, it's all muscle memory now, I kinda go on autopilot. I gotta give the fans what they want. But back to more pressing topics. This documentary, what exactly will it showcase? What's the story? It can't just be pictures of a bunch of random places."

I take another sip of wine, so I have time to formulate my response. I have been grappling with my reasons for doing this documentary and how I envision it materializing. "I think I want to show the history of the town. We're not a huge city like New York or DC, but we have a very unique culture and unique historical structures. I would like it if my documentary showed the true beauty of the town."

Charlie nods with squinted eyes trying to see my vision the way I see it.

"Our maid Betsy never shares anything about her life. I couldn't even tell you if she had kids or where she lived. Betsy has been with my family for over twenty years, and I don't even know her last name. One day, I followed her after Sunday brunch just to see what she does with her day off. I was curious. I wanted to know what she does when she is not with us. I followed her bus all the way downtown, and then I trailed behind her as she walked a mile outside of downtown into this neighborhood on the outskirts of town. She hobbled along with a limp that she covered well whenever she was with us. I watched her walk all the way to the park where five or six kids were playing outside. They started yelling grandma when she came near. Grandma! Betsy has grandkids, I didn't even know she had kids. That's when I realized that there's this whole different side to this town that I know nothing about. Pemberley Productions is all about bringing fresh, new ideas to media, but we've been stale recently. I want to be inspired, and I need a change of scenery to get the creative juices flowing again. I'm hoping there will be a new story in one of these pictures."

Charlie takes a moment to think and then like being struck by lightning, every nerve in his body lights up and he is radiating excited energy.

"Instead of inspiring a new movie, what if this project _was_ the new movie? You can capture footage of the locations and combine that with interviews with different owners and townsfolk" Charlie looks at me with shining eyes. "Darce, you're an amazing filmmaker, and I'm not just saying that because we're best friends. You take such care with the little details. Remember back in the day, when we were in that art history class and you did that documentary about organized crime. There were so many layers and it was so… what's the word you love to use? You know the one."

I chuckle, "Nuanced."

"Right, nuanced. Your film was so nuanced. Man, you kept me entertained and you know how I feel about anything that doesn't have a shootout or laugh track." I chuckle again thinking about all of the times I've tried and failed to expand Charlie's film repertoire. He has such a short attention span, something has to blow up every ten minutes for a movie to keep his focus. "But jokes aside, Will, if you want to do something that'll leave a mark and really show the story of our town, film is your best bet. I can see it now. You'll just a pose the modernization of Healdsburg with the historic aspects. It'll be amazing."

"Juxtapose."

"What?"

"The word is JUX-tapose, not JUST a pose."

"Whatever, Darce. It's a good idea, right?"

I finish the last of my salmon and lean across the table so that I am eye level with Charlie. "Yeah, it's a great idea, but you're forgetting something extremely important." I let out a labored breath. "I can't talk to strangers."

Charlie deflates as all of his excited energy dissipates into thin air. "Oh. Right. I forgot that you're socially impaired. Shit." Charlie closes his eyes for a moment. I continue eating my salmon. I will need to get back to the office soon and meet with Mr. Marcks, the creative director for our upcoming romantic drama. We are still working to create the screenplay. The current writer is struggling to come up with an original screenplay that does not involve any cowboy boots or drawn-out battle scenes. Sophia had the idea to adapt a book into a screenplay, but most of the well-known books have already been scooped up.

"Okay, Darcy, I've got it." Charlie clasps his hands together and lays them on the table. "I'll come with you and do the introducing for you. You'll be like my background cameraman and I'll be your reporter. You just give me a rundown of the place and what questions you want to ask and then I'll get the scoop and you can take the pictures and film. Brilliant? I know!"

"Charlie, I couldn't ask you to do that. I don't know how long this will take. I don't want you to waste your Saturday."

Charlie waves his hands dismissing my concern. "Darce, you've done way more for me. I can spare one Saturday to help my best bud out. It's no problem. Just create a list of places, the questions, and I'll meet you at your place?"

I can't help but smile at Charlie's kindness. "Yeah, I have a shortlist of places already."

"Great. That's settled. Amazing. I have to meet with my publicist to go over answers for an interview I'm doing on the Tonight Show next week. They're probably going to ask about what the hell happened with the brunette, and I want to be prepared for anything they might throw my way."

"Yeah, I have to get back to the office and wrap up some things. The first place I want to stop by tomorrow is a diner. It's open 24/7 so let's get there early, my place at say 6am?"

Charlie flags down our waitress who he happily obliges with an autographed napkin and a hefty tip. "This diner better be good if I'm waking up that early. You know how I feel about my mealtimes."

"Yes, Charlie," I begin eyeing his crumb-free plates, "I am well aware of your love of food."

As promised, Charlie is leaning on his car outside of my house at 6am on Saturday morning. His shirt is rumpled and his hair is uncombed, but otherwise, he looks clean.

"Ready?" I ask as I start my car and beckon Charlie over.

"Jumping for joy." Charlie yawns making his comment sound sarcastic. "Let's order one of everything at the diner, I'm starving. Where are we going again?"

"Okay, so I did some research, and Mama June's diner is the first diner that opened in all of Virginia. It was famous back in the day for its –" I look down at the notes I jotted down during my late night trip to the library, "For its shrimp and grits and Southern comfort food style dishes. Nobody ever talks about this place which is weird for such a historic landmark."

"Yeah, I've never even heard of it. Where is it?"

"Old Fields street. It's about a thirty-minute drive. I jotted down some questions I'd like you to ask the owner if he lets us film him. I was reading that the restaurant was burned down twice and had to be rebuilt by hand both times. That could be a good story."

"Okay, cool. Let me take a look at that notebook. Okay yeah. So, should I ask the questions like I'm a reporter or just like a normal person? Will I be in the documentary or will you cut me out? Oh, wait, don't include me today, I look like shit. I only had time to throw on clothes, I didn't style my hair or moisturize. Definitely not camera ready today. Maybe if…"

I ignore Charlie as he rambles on about the minutiae of today's interview. I mentally go over the other places I am hoping to stop by today. There is a book shop that used to be a library and the field I visited Sunday. I'm only going to the field because it is home to the state flower, the flowering dogwood. That is the only reason that the field is on the list.

I park on the side of the street before Charlie and I enter the diner. Charlie is still rambling on about something, and he does not stop talking until we sit down and look through the menus.

"Darce, they have an all you can eat option. Sausage, scramble, bacon, and all you can eat pancakes. I'm getting this and a bowl of those grit things you said this place is famous for. Should we talk to the owner before we eat or after?"

"We'll let them know before we order. It's not too crowded yet, so they might have some time now."

Charlie looks around for a waiter and when he spots one, he immediately flags him down. "Excuse me." The aproned man rushes over to us apologizing for not seeing us sooner. He fumbles with his notepad as he nervously asks, "What…what would you like to order, misters?"

Charlie smiles his award-winning grin and prepares to lay on the charm. "Can I get a coffee to start, tea for my companion and some toast and butter?" He pauses for dramatic effect, "And yes, I am the Charles Martin."

"Coffee, tea, and toast. Okay. And who is Charles Martin, sir?"

I almost laugh at Charlie's stunned expression.

"I am Charles Martin. I'm a famous actor."

"Sorry, sir. I didn't know, sir. Do you have any special requests?"

Charlie takes a moment to compose himself. The shock of the situation starting to wear off. "No need to apologize my good man. I guess my ego needed to be checked. My acting career is not of importance right now. My friend and I wanted to know if we could ask the owner some questions."

The waiter is overcome with a look of dread as he whispers, "The owner?"

"Yes, my friend is working on a documentary, and I want to ask the owner some questions about how the diner was started and how it was rebuilt after the fires a few years ago. Just questions about the history of the place. Is the owner in today?"

"No, sir. The owner is not here. Besides, this is a small diner. We're not important or valuable or nothin'. There are much better lots to buy in the uptown or further in downtown. We don't cause no trouble and we keep our mouths shut."

"Lots to buy? No, we're not looking to buy anything. We just want to ask some questions, that's it," I chime in confused by this turn of events.

"We got money if you want that. We can set something up. This diner has been in our family for the past 50 years. Please don't take it from us. We won't cause no trouble again."

"Nobody's going to take your diner," Charlie declares confused as well. "We just want to ask about the fire that occurred here –"

"I don't know nothin about no fire that happened. You must've heard wrong. We've always been quiet and kept to ourselves. Nobody set our place on fire."

"Somebody set your place on fire? Who?" I eagerly ask. I assumed that the fire was just from a kitchen accident. I was so focused on the rebuild, I never stopped to consider that the fire was no accident.

"Nobody started a fire! We ain't blamin nobody!" The waiter is extremely nervous now. He is jumpy and keeps looking back at the kitchen as if preparing to escape back there if Charlie or I give him reason to.

Sensing his agitation, Charlie quickly steps in to diffuse the situation. "Sorry, our bad. We were thinking of a different establishment. We are ready to order our breakfast if that's okay?"

The waiter looks between the pair of us and shakily asks, "What can I get you, sirs?"

"I'll have the Big Breakfast with the all you can eat buttermilk pancakes and a side of shrimp and grits."

"Just an order of pancakes," I reply as I close the menu and hand it back to the waiter. He bows his head and quickly scrambles back into the kitchen to relay our orders. Not once during that conversation did he look at either of our faces.

Our food promptly arrives, and I finish my pancakes quickly and wait for Charlie to polish off two helpings of pancakes before we pay the waiter and exit the diner.

"Well, that was weird."

"I don't understand," I declare shaking my head as I open the car door. "Why did he think that we wanted to be paid off? Why wouldn't he look at our faces? And what was with the constant looking back at the kitchen doors?"

"That was so weird, Darce. Mind you, the food was amazing. I could eat those grits for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But… I have no idea what that waiter was talking about." Charlie leans back and vaguely whispers, "I still can't believe that he had no idea who I was. That usually doesn't happen to me."

"That was very disheartening."

Charlie notices my defeated attitude and instantly plucks up. "Don't give up, Darce. There are still two more places on the list and we definitely can't mess up the last one. Let's go to the book store."

We do not run into any dodgy clerks or awkward conversations while we are at the bookstore because it is closed for the day. We head to the field a lot earlier than planned, but at least I am guaranteed to get some footage. I subconsciously look around for the girl from before, but of course the field is empty save the squirrels and birds flitting about.

"Wow, this place is beautiful. Real relaxing." Charlie flops onto a soft patch of grass and closes his eyes as the sun's rays warm his face. I take a picture of him amongst the dogwood and film some of the field as the sun rises above it. Once I am satisfied with my footage, I sit in the grass next to Charlie.

"Did you get the film you wanted?" Charlie asks with his eyes still shut and one arm flung across his forehead.

"Yeah, I got some good shots."

"Well, then I'm glad today wasn't a total waste. I'm busy next Saturday, but we can try again the Saturday after."

I nod even though he cannot see my gesture, and then I lean back and think about how much of a disappointment today was.

"I want to stop in this flower shop and pick up a bouquet."

I eye Charlie suspiciously. "Are you seeing this club girl today?"

He shrugs noncommittally as he strolls into a nearby flower shop. We drove back to the bookstore to see if it had opened since no hours were listed outside. The store still seemed dark, so we aimlessly ambled along the area surrounding the bookstore hoping to find something interesting nearby before stumbling upon the flower shop.

Not wanting to be assaulted with the strong scents of flowers, I opt to stay outside as Charlie picks up roses for his next great romantic tragedy. I walk back and forth along the road thinking about my next move. Should we try the diner again or should that be completely scratched off the list? Is that bookstore still open? Maybe we should have tried to open the door. It might have just looked dark from the outside. What store doesn't have hours listed? That's quite –

"Hello, young man, can I help you, on this blessed fine morning?" An older woman sitting under a canopy crisply calls out to me. I stop my pacing and move towards the voice. The woman is working on an embroidery pattern. The needle continues to weave in and out of the fabric while she waits for my response. A cart overflowing with twinkling jewelry and baubles stands behind her. Although her face does not betray her age, I can tell from her mannerisms and tone of voice that she is older maybe in her early 60's. She regards me with trepidation, cautiously, untrusting.

My poor people skills hinder me from disclosing vital details such as what my project entails and what I am looking for. Instead, I throw out the vaguest answer I could have possibly given. "Hello," I tip my head in greeting. "I am a filmmaker. I'm working on a project."

"Oh sir, I think you're in the wrong neighborhood. Walk straight until the end of this road, make a left on Jericho and a right on Elmer's and you'll be back where you belong." The woman promptly turns away from me, returning to her embroidery.

The disappointment from this morning emboldens me, and I find my voice. "No, I purposely came to this area. I was reading old documents about the town, and so much history happened, is happening here. I am looking for new movie ideas and am hoping to be inspired. There's so much bubbling beneath the surface of this town, and I want to pop that bubble and bring everything to the surface. Would you mind helping me talk to a diner owner"

The older woman doesn't even glance up once during my speech. In and out. In and out. She continues pulling the needle and thread through the fabric. This simply asking for help is not working. I need to start speaking a language that everybody understands.

I let out a heavy sigh. "I'm willing to pay for your help." This immediately gets the woman's attention. She places her embroidery carefully in her lap and looks up at me with a smile. "So, like a job? What would need to be done? And how much money are we talking?"

"Well, I need someone who knows the area to show me around, introduce me to locals. I'd be willing to pay by the hour starting at $8 an hour."

The woman's eyes go wide as she takes in what I'm saying. I wanted to be generous with the pay because I am expecting a lot from this guide. I need someone who knows the area in and out and will be willing to walk me around and do most of the talking. If all this woman does is sell jewelry on the side of the road all day, $8 an hour must sound like a godsend. She seems like she has seen a lot and knows everybody and everything that goes on here. I really want to get the history of that diner and there's no way I'm going to do it without the help of a local.

The woman laughs. "I'd think you were pulling my leg, but those shoes and that tie say you definitely have $8 an hour money. Why this area? Why not just do your little project about them other fancy folks you live with?"

I take a moment to think about my reasons for this project and what it means to me. I have to sell her on my vision. I'm going to need her if I want people to stop avoiding me and actually talk to me. "I'm a filmmaker. I enjoy capturing moments and discovering the story behind the moment. I grew up in Healdsburg, Virginia in a house on the hill, and when I finished college, I came back to this town and bought a house near my childhood home that I hope to die in. This is my home. I love this town, and I want other people to love it to. Those other fancy people I usually socialize with are only one part of the story of this town, to make a good film, a true film, I need to record _all_ parts of the story. I want this to be as authentic as possible. I'm tired of the same old, I want to be inspired." I flirted with the idea of focusing only on the lives of "the fancy folks" I'm used to because it would be easier. But I already know that a film like that will be full of pretension and a whole lot of pomp and circumstance.

The woman continues to regard me suspiciously, but after a moment she declares, "Oh well, I just sell jewelry on the side of the street. These old bones can't walk more than a mile a day, but I know somebody who knows this town inside and out and is a mighty fine walker." She points across the street at a little shop. The sign atop reads Bennet's One Stop Shop. It's a decent sized building made from aged red brick with a muffled glass door.

"There's a girl in there, Elizabeth. She knows every nook and cranny in this area. If you want to know about the culture in this area, she'll definitely have it for you."

"Elizabeth," I whisper. "Who should I tell her sent me?"

"Tell her Mrs. Potts sent you."

"Thank you," I smile excited to finally be getting somewhere.

" Oh, and young man, make sure you got a raincoat on when you go around popping those bubbles. They tend to splat on everyone in the vicinity. Have a blessed one." Mrs. Potts returns to her embroidery without explaining her last statement as I cross the street and walk towards the store she pointed out. I pause before going in and instead look into the door hoping that nobody on the other side will be paying attention to me.

Immediately I spot the girl from the field. The unwitting subject of the photo that began this enlightening journey. Two black braids framing her face and a look of intense concentration in her eyes, there is a book with a damaged and worn cover in her hands. Despite my straining, I cannot make out the title from where I stand looking into the window. Her delicate fingers effortlessly turn a page as her eyes fly over the written words, her lips softly mouth the story she is so completely engrossed in.

Before I can tell it to stop and reconsider, my hand reaches out to grasp the metal door handle, pulls down on it, and pushes the door open. A little bell above the door jingles announcing my presence, and the young woman looks up at me. She looks different than she did in the field. Normal now almost plain. Nothing much stands out about her now that I am seeing her up close and in normal lighting. Our eyes meet.

Her eyes go wide with shock before quickly narrowing again with resentment. With a grimace, the girl from the field curtly asks, "Can I help you… sir?"


	7. Chapter 7 Lizzy

**Author's Note: Wow! Time really flies. I've been so busy lately and my goal of posting once a week completely flew out the window. I'm just glad I finally got this chapter done. It's been so hard finding time to write, but like I said in the beginning, I'm going to see this story through to the end. So happy that we've finally gotten to this chapter. I feel like the story is finally picking up. I still have some exposition I want to write but we can finally get to the DarcyandNia parts. I wanted Darcy to have a project that he could work on with Nia, but I don't know how I feel about the documentary being that project. I'm going to see where it goes, but I don't know. Also I don't know how I feel about Nia raising money to take classes for a writing certificate, but I'll leave it for now. Let me know if you have any suggestions for why Darcy would need Nia's help and why Nia would need Darcy's money.**

 **This chapter is shorter than intended, so I'll get the second part out as soon as possible. I just really needed to wrap up this chapter, it's been open in a document on my computer for the past month :/**

 **Also major change to chapter 2. I want James to be younger than Janet and Nia so I changed it to their father having an affair instead of a previous marriage. I wanted to keep Mr. Bennet's reputation clean but I don't think that an affair is too out of his nature.**

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 **Chapter 7** **: Lizzy**

Momma had to run some errands this morning and I volunteered to watch the store, so I'm in here by myself today. But that's okay because days at the store are routine. I find comfort in routine. We get the same customers buying the same things at the same times on the same days. The only real change with our customers is the stories and problems they unload on me as they browse the aisles of our tiny market.

There's Ms. Marbury who always has my sister cut her a few slices of ham for her beloved dog Annie (She insists that Annie loves it even though it gives her gas) and then debates whether the calories she burned on the walk over here will offset the calories she'll gain if she eats a Hershey bar. Then there's Mr. Montgomery who proclaims some variation of the same exaggerated exclamation. "Oh ho, I almost went blind lookin' at ya, girl. You're gonna kill someone with that beautiful face." He always buys a newspaper and a coke and tells me to keep the change when he hands me a dollar. Then there are the Dumarrys with their six boys and one girl. Mrs. Dumarry always looks frazzled and almost always leaves at least one of her kids in the store before running back in to claim the youngster, apologizing profusely as I smile sympathetically at her. Every now and then we get a new customer who happens to be passing through town. These customers usually go about their business without the razzle-dazzle of the usuals. If they speak to me, the extent of our conversation is some combination of these three phrases "Thank you," "Repeat that," and "Good afternoon."

We get white customers every now and then, it's not that unusual. But in all my nineteen years of being around the store, I have never seen somebody so… uppity walk into our store. My eyes are immediately drawn to the Rolex watch and then the LV logo on his shiny brown shoes. His white shirt is crisp and his pants are perfectly creased. His hair is the only thing disheveled about him. He screams money and the only time people with money come to this part of town is if they want to buy up a business. I narrow my eyes as I look up at his face. No way….

I can't believe this!

Mr. Moneybags is the same jerk from the club that called me and my sisters a bunch of whores. Figures. This is exactly how I pictured that jerk would be in real life. Oozing money and privilege and entitlement. To top it off he's Hollywood handsome with a defined jawbone and moody, dark brown eyes. His attractiveness almost masks his ugly expression - as if the whole store smells of rotten eggs. I roll my eyes inward at the unfairness of it all. I want to turn away and pretend that I don't notice him, when my father's voice rings out in my head, "Every customer should leave with at least goodbye and a hello."

"Hello." I grit out. Our eyes meet, and I try my best not to seethe under his judgmental gaze. I can see in his eyes that he wants to ask a question, but I don't encourage him with a smile or open airs. I can't ignore him, but I don't have to be nice to him either.

He stares back at me with a deer in headlights expression. I bet he's just realizing that I'm the girl from the club he insulted. He's probably trying to figure out if he should mock me or throw another insult. I don't care. He's not about to make me lose my cool.

"What? Did you think this was a brothel?"

Mr. Moneybags looks confused as he shakes his head. "What no! Why would _you_ think that _I_ would think that?" He looks around nervously eyeing the shelves as if there are dancers hiding behind them.

Does he not remember what he said at the club? He probably thought that we were so beneath him, he didn't even bother to see who he was hurling insults at.

Realizing that I will not be giving him a response, he continues on. "No, I actually was pointed in this direction by uh… Mrs. Potts, from across the street. She said that you could help me with a project I'm working on. Lizzy, right?" Reluctantly, he extends a hand over the counter and looks at me expectantly, "I'm William Darcy."

I regard him warily as I extend my hand to clasp his. When our hands make contact, he quickly moves his away as if burned, and I watch him attempt to discreetly wipe his hands on the side of his pants. What the hell is wrong with Mrs. Potts? Why in the world would she send this rude man my way?

"I don't know what she told you to make you think that I could help you, but I promise I have nothing that would be of any help to you." I turn away to grab one of the maps sitting on the table behind me, and mutter under my breath, "Except some manners." I turn back to Mr. Asshole Darcy and open the map for him. "Here, let me grab a pen and I'll show you how to get from here to downtown. It's not —"

"No!" he angrily exclaims. He seems annoyed now. "I am not lost and I do not need your help finding my way back to downtown. I need someone to help me interview some people and give me some history on the area for a documentary I am producing. I'm willing to pay eight dollars an hour."

Oh. Now I understand Mrs. Potts. Most people in town know that I've been saving up to get a writing certificate from the local university. A few times a year the university offers a creative writing intensive program where aspiring writers can work on their craft and really find their voice. A lot of classes are taught by published authors, publishers, and illustrators, so I'm hoping to make some connections that will help get my book published or at least get me a job writing for someone other than Jim Barnes. The program is costly but worth every penny.

My parents give me money here and there for working in the store, and the Dear Nancy column helps some, but at the rate I'm going, it'll take me another two years to save up enough money for tuition, books, and transportation costs to attend the program and get my creative writing certificate.

My mother used up most of the savings to send Janet to college right after high school in the hopes that she would meet a rich medical or law student and then throw her sisters in the way of other rich men. Unfortunately, Janet did not end up with a man, but she did graduate summa cum laude with a degree in Psychology, a fact my mother tries to keep hidden as to not scare away any potential suitors. There was no money left for me to go to school after I graduated, and after Janet's failed run with college, my mother was not so keen on sending any of her other daughters to university anyway. "There are much cheaper and more foolproof ways to set you girls up with respectable gentlemen," she always tells us. James, of course, will get to go to college even if my parents have to sell the store to pay his fees. No son of my father's is going to go through life an uneducated heathen. Such is life.

This job from Jerkface Darcy seems too good to be true. No way am I buying that I'm the only person who could possibly do this job for him. Maybe he does remember me from the club and is setting me up. Still… the possibility of working a job that pays ten times what I get for my Dear Nancy columns is way too good an offer to pass up. Once I complete this program and get published, I won't have to pander to Jim Sleazeball Barnes ever again. Ugh, never having to see him again will be like 15 Christmas wrapped in one.

"A guide for what? How much of a commitment will this be? What exactly are my responsibilities, leading you places, explaining things, introducing you to people?" Even though I'm pretty sure I'll be taking the job, I want to know what I'm getting myself into.

Darcy takes a moment to formulate individual answers for my tirade of questions. "Well, as you know I'm a filmmaker. I work at Pemberley Productions." He looks at me with an air of expectancy waiting for some affirmative response. Well, he's out of luck cause I don't know what Pemberley Productions is, and I tell him as much.

"Where is that?"

"On the corner of Pemberley and Linden street."

I think for a moment. That's where Charlie asked Janet to meet him today. Well, that makes sense, Jerkface has the looks of an actor. Probably one of those dark, mysterious types in those films Amanda is always watching. "Are you an actor or something?"

He stares back at me shocked, affronted even. He's probably so used to having people fawn over him, he isn't prepared to handle someone who has no idea who he is. I'm glad to have the opportunity to knock him down a few pegs.

"No," he starts slowly, "I own the company." He stares at me again, eyebrows knitted together over squinting eyes staring me down. When no realization dawns on my face, and I continue to stare back at him with the same "Is-that-supposed-to-be-a-big-deal" expression, Darcy semi-rhetorically asks, "How have you never heard of the Darcy family?"

I look at him as I break out into an amused grin. "You're the first Darcy I've ever heard about or seen. Guess you're not as big a deal as you thought." I meant to say the last part in my head, but maybe it was better said out loud. It seems like he gets to be the center of attention way more than he ought, and all that attention has been going to his head.

Darcy looks at me again through squinted eyes. He's trying to determine if he still wants to give me a job. Though it kills me to do so, I need to swallow some of my pride and be slightly agreeable.

"That was a joke." I laugh uneasily trying to convince him that my last statement was said in jest. Then I quickly continue, "Is the documentary going to be about anything in particular or the town history in general?"

This seems to bring Darcy back from the edge of reconsideration. His eyes light up and his frown lines smooth out as he answers. "Yes, I want to focus on the businesses and areas that were here at the start of the town. I feel like everything is changing and a lot of the older areas are becoming forgotten. A lot of the oldest businesses happen to be in this part of town. It's funny how this area is so different from where I live across the river. Almost like there are two completely different towns."

It's pretty obvious that the town is divided into different sections based on race. The whites live up the hill and the blacks live on the bottom. We keep to ourselves and they keep to themselves. There's not too much mixing going on in this town.

"…so does that sound good?"

I snap back to reality. I completely missed the rest of what Darcy was saying. "I'm sorry. Does _what_ sound good?"

Darcy lets out an exasperated sigh and gives me a pointed look. "The job description. We meet two or three times a week and you help me interview local business owners and show me some of the other interesting landmarks to help me with my documentary. I'd also need you to help explain the history and get other people to talk about their experiences. People aren't too keen on opening up to me." Darcy pauses to clear his throat before continuing, "They don't actually have to be on camera if they do not want to be. I can place the audio on top of film of different landscapes if somebody does not want to be shown. You don't have to but it would be nice if you also helped edit the final project together as well. We'd work for maybe four, five hours at a time, and I'll pay you hourly so no need to worry if we take a long time one day. Eight dollars an hour. Does that sound good?"

I take it all in. Something inside screams for me to ask more questions and to be more skeptical, but the dreamer who can see herself learning from the best authors of the times and signing copies of her bestseller silences those screams and enthusiastically exclaims, "Yep, that sounds perfect."

Darcy nods his head solemnly and replies, "Now we just need to discuss which days we'll meet…"

I remember all of my obligations. I'm working a lot of hours at the store right now. Now that I don't need the money, I can cut back on the hours, but I'm gonna have to find somebody else to take my shifts. Amanda might be able to or maybe dad will cover me especially when he finds out how much this new job pays. I also have to stay on top of my weekly Dear Nancy columns - meeting with Jim twice a week and getting all of my questions answered. While I can't stand Jim or the job, I made a commitment and I'm going to at least finish out the Dear Nancy columns for this year.

On top of all of that, I'll have to hurry and get my application in, so I can be a part of the creative writing program when it starts up again in the spring. Now that I'll be able to afford it, I might as well get started as soon as possible. Two days might be a lot right now, but one day a week I can manage. I work in the store all day on Tuesday and Thursday and also on Monday and Friday mornings. My Wednesdays are free but I like to reserve those to work on my writing. I can see if Momma or Pa will cover my Friday morning shift, so I can reserve those for this third job. Between them and Amanda, I should have somebody to cover me then.

"I can do all day Friday starting, let's say, next week?"

Darcy nods. "I can pick you up from the store - "

"Or I could meet you somewhere. Let's say the flower shop up the street?" The last thing I need is my father or worse James, seeing me get picked up from the store by some white man. My father would have a cow and James would try and fight Darcy and get sent to jail. Much safer to meet Darcy in a neutral location away from my family.

Darcy looks at me before shaking his head. "No, I prefer not to meet at the flower shop. I'd rather just meet you since we might have to drive somewhere."

"I can just meet you wherever we need to go. The bus goes most places and this town isn't that big, I can walk most places just fine. And my sisters and I share a car so I can use it for any far places."

Darcy shakes his head again. "No, it makes more sense to meet you here and pick you up. I will see you next Friday at 8am." And with that Darcy turns on his heels effectively ending the conversation. I furrow my brows as I realize that he is planning on meeting me at the store next Friday. My mother will be working at the store next Friday.

"Oh no, no, no," I exclaim as I rush around the counter and hurry to catch up with Darcy. I reach out and grab his arm as he reaches out to push open the front door. "You cannot meet me at the store."

"Why not?" He asks incredulous at my vehemence.

Just my luck, my mother chooses that moment to walk in.

She stops in her tracks when she sees my hand grasping William's arm. It takes her less than a second to take in the scene and draw her own very inaccurate conclusions. "Heavens, almighty. Why you look like quite a rich fellow." My mother takes in Darcy's expensive clothing and handsome face then she turns to me and loudly whispers with a very overt wink, "Great job snagging such a well-off man, Lizzy. You make a mother proud. How long has this been going on?" My mother beams at us as she takes in our proximity and assumes there is some clandestine relationship going on. Darcy looks down at my mother with disgust as she continues on. "Why haven't you invited your beau to Sunday dinner — oh no… when's the baby due?"

Leave it to my mother to turn an arm pull into a secret relationship and pregnancy. I don't even bother trying to explain the situation to her. My main priority is getting Darcy out of the store and away from her wild accusations before he starts to reconsider offering me the job.

I push past my ridiculous mother and pull Darcy outside of the store down the street to a corner away from the store. My mother would never leave the store unattended and locking up would take at least ten minutes, so we should be safe for a little while.

"I'm so sorry about that." I hurriedly begin, "My mother can be… dramatic sometimes. I promise I'll clear things up with her right away.

"I see why you don't want me to pick you up from the store. With family like that, I'd want to keep people away too."

I pause. Darcy's statement about my mother comes across as very harsh and critical. He said his statement with malice and not in the typical joking oh-haha-everybody-has-an-embarrassing-family way.

Before I can really ponder his words, he continues, "Still, it is more convenient for me to pick you up from the store so I will see you here Friday at 7am. I will be waiting in my car, and I do not like waiting for long." With his final piece said, he is soon bidding me goodbye and walking towards the aforementioned flower shop. I am left standing in the road contemplating if I made the right decision by agreeing to be tangled up with this enigma of a man.

I glance down at my watch. Janet and Amanda don't meet with Charlie for another hour. Maybe I can just tag along with them for the rest of the day. No way am I going back into the store with Momma waiting to put me through the wringer and question me on my new rich, white boyfriend. I roll my eyes at the absurdity that is my mother. Do I really want to take a bus all the way up the hill though? Janet and Amanda already took the car to Amanda's rehearsal and will probably drive up to Pemberley after the rehearsal is over. Or I could go home and work on my writing. My shift is technically over, so nobody can get mad at me for heading home now. Decisions, decisions.

"Did that highfaluting, Mr. Darcy find you?" Startled, I turn in the direction of the voice. Mrs. Potts is looking at me expectantly, her needlework sitting in her lap. Her stand is overflowing with shiny baubles and beautifully printed cloths. I didn't even realize that I had crossed the street during my pacing. She continues on, "I pointed him your way. He told me he had a paying business opportunity."

"Sorry, Mrs. Potts. I didn't see you there. Ma is being dramatic again."

Mrs. Potts laughs heartily, "Oh Diana ain't never gonna change. I used to babysit that child and she'd always be in grown folks business. Couldn't sit still that one." Mrs. Potts shakes her head clearing away the memory. "Anyway, I shouldn't be bad-mouthing your mother. I want to know if that Mr. Darcy told you about his job offer."

I break out into a full-on smile. "He did! Thank you so much for pointing him my way. I almost pointed him right back out of the door when he first showed up, but his offer is too good to pass up. I'll have the money for my classes in no time. I might even be able to enroll for the summer."

"Oh, bless Jesus. I'm so happy for you." A serious look crosses Mrs. Potts's face and her voice develops a stern quality. "Now, be careful dealing with him. You can never trust people like him. Get your money, but keep both eyes on him at all times. I wouldn't trust him or any of his _friends_ further than I can throw them. You hear me?"

I vigorously nod. This is the most serious I've ever seen the free-spirited Mrs. Potts. She's never given me a warning before, so I make sure to take this one seriously. But she needn't worry, I have no plans of being friends with the rude and arrogant jerk-face Mr. Darcy.

When I get home, I head straight to my room and ask Janet to make my excuses. I skip out on dinner sighting a stomachache and a lack of hunger. I know that I can't avoid my family forever, but too much has already happened today. I don't think I can go through the Spanish Inquisition without falling apart. Best case scenario, something even more dramatic happens between now and breakfast time to make my Momma forget all about what she thinks she saw in the store. Worst case scenario, somebody ignores my wishes and barges into my room demanding answers anyway. I turn out the lights and hide out under the covers just in case.

Under the veil of darkness, I turn over everything that just happened. It's crazy to think that a prissy guy like William Darcy wants my help on his big documentary project. Am I crazy to agree to help? Either way, what's done is done. I close my eyes and let the waves of darkness wash me onto the shores of sleep.


	8. Chapter 8 Janet

**Author's Note: Wow! Thank you so much for sticking with this story despite my pro-longed absence. The reviews and follows and favorites I got these past few weeks really motivated me to finally finish writing this chapter. I've been really busy with work and getting ready to go back to school in August. I'll be taking time off this summer to pursue some hobbies and relax before I start medical school, so I'll have more time to write soon.**

 **While the Darcy/Lizzy (Nia) story arc is my fave, I want to explore some other story arcs like Mary (Amanda) and Jane (Janet). But I want to make sure that my details are correct as I expand. I'm going to take the rest of this month to work on the outline for this story and to go back through and make sure everything makes sense and flows. Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing and following and favoriting. I really appreciate it.**

 **Also, I found a Jane Austen inspired app called Regency Love. It was 4.99 but I bought it and I'm so glad I did. It's a choose-your-own adventure type game, but the writing is beautiful. Very historically accurate and the gameplay is simple but also engaging. Highly recommend you check it out. The creators also hinted that the game will be expanding as they get more users. There are currently four potential suitors (you have to spend extra money to get the fourth one) but more options coming soon. I'm a sucker for Jane Austen inspired games and movies so I definitely want to support the creators. I'm in no way affiliated with the app, just an excited fan wanting to support a quality product.**

 **Also also, this chapter was getting too long so I chopped it in half. Hopefully I'll have the second part up by the end of next week, but who knows.**

 **Stay Happy, Stay Golden**

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.

 **Chapter 8: Janet**

"Ah five, six… five, six, seven, eight!"

After the initial eight count, Amanda is a beautiful tangle of limbs and soul. Her body twists and turns into various angles as she leaps and flies across the stage. Her shoulders curve in and out as she becomes one with the music. Her eyes are closed and her face is at peace as she effortlessly exerts every move. Every motion is fluid yet precise as if this dance is second nature. As the final notes of the upbeat banging fade into the distance and Amanda's body comes to a rest, I cheer along with the dancers sparsely littered throughout the theatre.

"Bravo!" I yell enchanted by how amazingly talented my younger sister is. "Magnificent. Marveloso! You were mystifying!"

Amanda blushes under my enthusiastic praise and sheepishly smiles down at me. "Thanks Janet. I wasn't that great. I messed up on the fifth eight count and my ending wasn't as smooth as it should've been. I felt myself stumble."

"Oh well, if there were mistakes I certainly did not see them. All I saw was perfection." I beam up at my sister. She is always so modest. Amanda is the most talented and dedicated person I know. I can't wait until all of her hard work pays off and she is a big star performing on Broadway and in blockbuster movies. She'll be the first black actress to win an Oscar for a leading role, I just know it. I get so excited thinking about Amanda's bright future. She's the only one of us with a real passion. She dedicates so much time and effort. She uses every failure as an opportunity to grow and become better at her craft.

Sure, Lizzy has her writing, but she's so protective of it. She once yelled at me for reading a short story she left on her desk. It was rather good, and I hadn't meant to spy. But she would not listen to reason. I never read another piece of her writing again. Well, except for her Dear Nancy columns, but those don't count since they're not written in her real voice. And then there's James and Lianna who are both currently pursuing aspirations we all pray to God will not become their passion.

I have yet to find my passion. Teaching is great. I love my students. The school keeps asking me to come on staff full-time, but something is holding me back. I'm not as dedicated to teaching as Amanda is to performing. I can't inspire my children the way I want to. For example, little Tommy Higgins comes to class, makes jokes, and refuses to do any of his work. I've tried talking to him, leveling with him, and bribing him to no avail. Nowadays I do my best to ignore his antics and continue with teaching my class. A truly dedicated teacher would not stop until Tommy Higgins was a role model student. But alas, I am not dedicated so instead I am content to contain instead of handle the situation.

"When are we supposed to meet Mr. Martin."

"Hmm, Mr. Martin sounds oh so formal. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you calling him Charles. That's how he introduced himself." I look at the clock hanging on the wall up above us. The hands read 12:30pm. "Well, he didn't actually give a time. He just said, 'See you Saturday.'" I blush as Amanda regards me quizzically.

"So, are we just going to show up there and start asking around for a Mr. Charles Martin."

I shrug embarrassed by the lack of planning on my part. "I guess that's what we'll have to do. It never occurred to me to get a specific time."

"Of course it didn't," Amanda laughs, "You were too busy getting lost in his baby blues."

"I was not." I blush again. Turning away quickly before Amanda can see my flushed face, I continue, "The worst that can happen is they turn us away and we'll know that this whole affair was not meant to be. It's not like either of us has very high hopes for this meeting." I turn to look at my sister who is lost in space, "Are you done practicing for the day?"

Amanda shakes herself out of her reverie and meets my gaze. "Practice? Yes, I'm done with practice. I'll come back later tonight and work on my second piece. The big show is in only a month."

A big smile breaks out across my face. "I know, I'm so excited!"

"Well don't get too excited." Amanda packs up her things and walks towards the exit. "I'll be lucky if I remember all of my cues. I haven't had enough time to practice for the show and attend auditions."

"Any good news?" I ask giddily. Amanda's been going to so many auditions recently she's bound to have gotten a callback from one of them.

"No, not yet." Amanda quickly replies as we open the door to our trusty family car. She's a little beaten up and has a few dents, but this car has seen us through multiple school dances, countless interviews, and way too many trips to the club. The day she breaks down will be a sad day indeed for the Bennet household.

I put the key in, start the ignition, and wait for our beloved car to sputter to life.

"God, I hate this car."

I gasp. "Amanda! Don't be so rude. Old Blue has served us well these past few years. She's not the newest, but she's reliable and she's sturdy."

"Whatever, Janet. Of course, you couldn't find anything unkind to say about anyone or _anything_."

I don't see how being kind is a bad thing. Amanda and Lizzy are always badgering me about being too kind and too naive. I don't think it's wrong to want to see the good in everybody and everything. Sometimes people are having off days. Everyone deserves to be shown kindness and respect. That's how I feel about the matter.

"Everybody deserves kindness."

There is a pause before Amanda replies, "Well, don't show Mr. Charles Martin too much kindness today."

"What are you talking about?" I laugh as I turn up the road heading uptown. I rarely have reason to drive this way, but I vaguely remember the Pemberley Productions building being at the top of a hill. Once I find Linden Street, I guess I'll just drive up until I see Pemberley.

"Ha, don't play dumb. You know Charlie is completely head over heels for you just like every other man on the face of the Earth. He's going to try and woo you while we're up there."

"No, this is not a date. This is a networking opportunity." I hurriedly reply. "Charles wants to meet with you to discuss acting opportunities."

"Pfft, puh-lease. Mr. Martin didn't even want me to come. Let's be real, he only invited me to appease you. He's doing whatever he has to in order to get in your pants. I'm just trying to warn you so you don't find yourself in a creepy situation."

"No need to be crass, Amanda! I'll remind you that Charles invited all of us, not just me. He wanted you to tour the building and network too."

"Whatever Janet." Amanda turns to her window and stares out of it for the rest of the car ride. I don't know why she's so intent on disliking Charles.

My family often insists that men are only nice to me because they want to sleep with me or have me as some sort of trophy wife. Nobody believes that my intellect or personality will attract a man. My whole life I've been told that I'm the town beauty, but when I look in the mirror, I just see a face like anybody else's. And I just wish people didn't place so much value on external characteristics likes look. It's quite bothersome.

Besides, I'm too unstable to be in a romantic relationship with someone right now. Charles seemed like a nice gentleman, and I would love to get to know him better, but I'm still trying to figure out my life.

"Janet!"

Charles Martin walks towards Amanda and me with a huge smile on his face and a light in his eyes. I politely smile back at him and give a small wave not quite able to match his level of enthusiasm after the encounter Amanda and I just had with his receptionist.

"Hello, Charles."

"Please, call me Charlie."

Two large bouquets of flowers swing at his side as he purposefully makes his way towards us. He stops abruptly in front of us and looks down at me smiling. He clasps my left hand in his right and says, "I'm so glad you came. These are for you." He hands me the bouquet of red roses, lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it. "And these… are for you." He hands the bouquet of lilies to Amanda. "Amanda, right?"

"Yes… that's right. I didn't think you'd remember." Amanda replies in shock.

"I was pretty drunk that night, but there is no way I could forget the names of two such beautiful women." I blush at the compliment and turn to Amanda unable to hold eye contact with him any longer.

"How are you liking the building so far?" Charlie eagerly asks. Walking backward so that he can see our faces while we talk.

"Gorgeous," I begin ready to shower Pemberley with praise.

"But your staff is extremely rude."

"Amanda!" I hiss. "It was just a misunderstanding."

"No, it wasn't. _Millicent_ wouldn't let us back to see you. She wouldn't even inform you that we had arrived. She just could not believe that two poor, black girls had a meeting with the hotshot Charles Martin."

"I'm sure it wasn't that." I hurriedly say, "Besides we weren't waiting for long."

Still holding my hand, Charles focuses on me. "Did you all just arrive?"

"Oh well, we arrived maybe ten minutes ago, but we didn't mind our wait in the lobby. This lobby is beautiful. The glass is -"

Amanda effectively cuts me off again. "Don't listen to her. We arrived over an hour ago. We let the receptionist know that we were here to see you and she told us that we weren't on the books. Ms. Millicent wanted us to wait outside or better yet just leave. We had to pretend to go outside and then hide out of her view to stay here. Who knows how long we'd have to wait if you hadn't been passing by and seen us."

Charlie stops and turns fully toward us. "That can't be right. I specifically told Milly to send my guests back to my office when they arrived. I told her your names. Hmm. I'm going to figure out what happened."

Charlie begins to walk purposefully away from us towards Ms. Millicent who is casually flipping through a fashion magazine behind the receptionist desk.

I flashback to our earlier encounter with Ms. Millicent and how she looked at Amanda and I with such disgust and hatred. I watch Charlie walk up to her desk and exchange some words. She looks up at me, and I give her a nervous smile. She looks back at Charlie and nods profusely. Then Charles turns towards me and beckons me over.

"I'm so sorry Janet. I must have missed it when you said your names. I thought you were wannabe actresses trying to sneak into the building. We've had a lot of people doing that, so I was being extra cautious. That was entirely my fault. I do hope you accept my apology."

Millicent looks up at me with a wide smile and imploring eyes. See? It was all just a big misunderstanding.

"Oh, no worries Millicent. You were just doing your job. And frankly, I can't remember if I even mentioned our names." We both laugh reflexively.

"I'm so glad we cleared that up!" Charlie smiles. We both turn away from the desk and walk back to Amanda.

"All cleared up, Amanda. Millicent will know who we are next time."

Amanda narrows her eyes at me. "Did she apologize for being nasty?"

"It's all cleared up. Let's just move on." I reply. Before Amanda can interject again, I ask, "So, Charlie what exactly is it that you do?"

Charlie takes us all through Pemberley showing us the different sets and production rooms. It's all quite fascinating. He introduces us to a few different people including a director and a producer.

"I had no idea there were so many different people involved with the making of one movie."

"Yeah," Charlie chuckles, "It's quite a production. A lot more to it than two people just reading lines. Once I had to re-do a scene 73 times because the director wanted it shot from every angle imaginable."

"Wow." The more Charlie talked about what he did as an actor the more I realized that performing is not for me. I could never learn all of those lines and kiss strangers just for one movie. And all of the razzle-dazzle of premieres and award shows and rubbing elbows with hotshots. No thank you! Give me a rowdy classroom of disruptive children over that any day.

"Is this a script for your new movie?" We've reached Charlie's office which is more like a pool hall than a place to get real work done. There's a billiards table and a big stereo system. There's also a small fridge and a table piled high with junk food. A television set sits in the corner in front of a plush black couch. On the table near the door sits some heavy stacks of bound paper.

"Yeah, it's a work-in-progress though. We're branching out into different, more nuanced genres and our writers aren't used to that style. The writing is not where the boss wants it to be, so the script keeps changing."

"Is everything else together like the other actors and the set design?" Amanda picks up a script and begins thumbing through it.

Charlie laughs, "We don't even have somebody to play the lead actress. Like I said, everything can change with this one." Charlie thinks for a moment, "One of you should give it a try. Read the lines let me know what you'd change up about the scenes." Although Charlie directs the suggestion to both of us, he looks at me while he says it. I remain quiet under his gaze.

"Can I give it a try?" Amanda eagerly asks. "I've tried my hand at acting once or twice, but I'd love to read lines with one of the greatest actors of our time."

"Oh, flattery will get you everywhere with me." Charlie contemplates for a moment, rubbing his chin with his hand and looking at Amanda through squinted eyes. "Toss me a script. Let's do Act two, scene one, page 35."

They both flip through their script to the page. "Now, even though we're just doing a reading, it's good to go through the scene and get the gist. You don't have to memorize all of the lines, but it's good to know some things. I'll give you a moment. Granted there aren't many lines for this particular scene. Let me know when you're ready."

They both take a few moments of silence. I walk towards the couch, take a seat on the edge, and watch them work.

"There isn't too much dialogue written," Charlie says. "Mainly some short descriptions of what is going on in the scene and how each of us should react. Thomas, my character, and Mary, your character, were high school sweethearts torn apart when I went off on a long trip out of the country. We are meeting up for the first time in years. The meeting is supposed to be 'a little tense with both of us guarded but hopeful.' Aside from a few key lines the scriptwriter insists be in the scene, we have to supply all of the other details."

"If this scene is going to work, we both need to have the same context." Amanda paces back and forth deep in thought. "Where does the scene take place?"

"It's supposed to be a chance meeting at a party. I've been in town for a few weeks, but you don't know that, and we happen to meet at the same party."

"I don't think I would intentionally seek you out at this party. Honestly, I would probably run away if I saw you. There has to be a reason for us to see each other while at this party." Amanda pauses, thinking up a plausible way for them to meet randomly.

"From what I know of my character, I probably _would_ seek you out… secretly. I want to talk to you, but I also want to seem nonchalant. I've probably been tracking you at the party this entire time waiting for an opportunity to get you alone away from the crowd. I followed you into the… kitchen! Under the guise that I'm getting a glass of water."

"Okay. Party. Separated high school sweethearts. Kitchen. Thomas and Mary. Okay, I think I've got the details."

"Charles, you ready?" I call out.

"Ready." He replies. His head down and his eyes closed.

"Okay and…. go!"

"Hey, why are you here?" Amanda's tone is a little aggressive, but I can feel the hurt in her words.

"I'm back in town for business."

"Why didn't you tell me first."

"I…I didn't want to upset you."

Amanda stares back at Charlie. A moment passes and Amanda continues staring not saying anything.

"Umm…" Charlie looks back at her stunned not sure what to say.

"Sorry. Can we try that again? I got kinda dazed and didn't know what to say."

"Yeah, no worries. It's a lot harder than it seems, and this is your first time doing it, right?"

"Yeah. Okay, okay. Let's try it again from the top."

"And… action!"

"Hey, why are you here?"

"I'm back in town for business."

"Why didn't you tell me first!"

"I…I didn't want to upset you."

"Upset me? Why would…" Amanda freezes again. "Wow, sorry this is really hard. I have no idea what to say next."

"Yeah, it's hard to improv without any context." Charlie grabs Amanda's script and moves to place it back on the table. He pauses and then looks in my direction on the couch. "Janet, how about you give it a try?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't be any good." I nervously laugh. "Amanda is the performer, not me. I'm enjoying watching."

"No, give it a try. I'm sure you'll do great." Charlie steps closer to me and places a script into my hands. "It's mainly in the eye contact which should be easy for me since you have such beautiful eyes." He smiles looking into my eyes as if to affirm his point.

"You have beautiful eyes too," I whisper to him.

His smile gets wider, "Thanks."

Amanda loudly coughs from her corner. "Eww, I'm still here. I thought we were reading lines not staring into each other's eyes."

My face heats up embarrassed by Amanda's statement.

"You're right, dear Amanda." Charlie takes a few steps away from me and places his script on the desk. "This is theatre. Top of the scene?"

I look over at Amanda who shrugs and turns away from me. I take a deep breath and nod at Charlie.

I try to become Mary. I imagine my school days. Holding hands with Thomas on the way home from school. Notes sent throughout summer while he was away at camp. Stolen kisses behind trees in my backyard. I remember his leaving and how I was so sad I couldn't even see him off. The pain of not receiving any communication while he was gone washes over me. I think back to how I felt when I heard he had come back to town. And now here he is standing in front of me, different yet still my same Thomas.

I look up into the baby blue eyes of the man I loved… the man I love and simply state, "You're back."

Thomas rapidly blinks before replying, "Yes, I'm back. I've been back for a few weeks."

A few weeks? And he couldn't call on me once in those few weeks? "I guess you've been awfully busy catching up with family and old friends."

"He searches my face for something but before he can find it, I speak up again.

"And you didn't stop to see me?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. I'm hurt by his avoidance, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he hurt me so deeply. I wave my hands and laugh, "But no matter. I shouldn't have expected a special call after all this time. How was your trip?"

Thomas pauses straining with his next words. "Mary, I… Mary I wanted to see you when I first arrived. It's just — "

"Then why didn't you?"

Thomas is quiet again.

"Why didn't you stop by?" I don't ask the question without any bitterness or malice. I'm simply asking to understand. "My address is still the same. If I wasn't at home when you called, mother would've delivered the message to me."

"I didn't think you'd want to see me. Not after…" He trails away as we both think back to our last discussion full of tears and hurt emotions.

"Yeah. Well, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms," I chuckle.

"No kidding." Charlie laughs with me, the tension slowly easing.

"But that's in the past. You're here to stay, right?" I look up hopefully. Despite the hurt, I'm willing to put that all aside and pick up the pieces of our shattered relationship. I can't see myself with anybody but Thomas.

"I, Mary, I'm not staying. I have to get back to New York soon. My fiancé —"

"Fiance?" My hand flies to my heart of its own accord and clutches at my breast. I am in shock. How did this happen? In the span of only a few years, Thomas has erased all that we meant to each other and replaced me with a shinier, more worldly version. Fiancé? How could he have enough time to meet a girl, court her, and propose?

"We met at work. She's really nice. She couldn't be down here with me, but you'd like her if you met her…."

Thomas continues on, but I can no longer pay attention. I nod absentmindedly as a million thoughts whirl through my head. Questions pop up in my head begging to be asked, but my mouth can no longer function properly, so they remain on the tip of my tongue unspoken. I continue to nod until Thomas's mouth stops moving and he looks at me expectantly waiting for an answer.

I pull back the corners of my mouth into an acceptably enthusiastic smile and look up at him. "I'm so happy for you. I can't wait to meet her. It was so nice seeing you again." I awkwardly reach out to squeeze his arm craving some form of physical contact. I still can't believe that he is here in front of me, but also a thousand miles away. Giving him one last smile, I remove my hand and walk past him back out into the sea of joyful party guests.


	9. Chapter 9 Darcy

**Author's Note: Another prolonged absence, but I'm back. I will see this story through to the end. I actually have a lot of this story already written. I write in a non-chronological way. I sit down to write, and sometimes I envision future scenes that don't connect yet. I'm still trying to get all the filler pieces written to connect all the extra chapters I've already written for this story.**

 **Anyway, this chapter is really short, but it technically was supposed to be added to the previous chapter. It's written in Darcy's perspective so I separated them and I'll keep them separate for now. I start school on Monday so I honestly don't know when I'll update this story next, but I'll try to update whenever I have free time between studying.**

 **I also started a blog (check my profile for the link) where I'll post excerpts and updates on all of my works. I have a few other stories I've been working on these past few years that I would love to share. Some of them fanfiction, some of them not. I post more regularly over there because its more excerpts and just my thoughts, so I'll keep that updated with new content until I can get a substantial chapter for this story written.**

 **As always thanks for reading, and I appreciate all of the follows, favorites, and comments.**

 **Author's Note: Also for references, I imagine Janet Bennet as a young Dorothy Dandridge with longer hair, a very classic beauty. I'm not quite sure how I imagine everyone else yet.**

 **Stay Happy, Stay Golden**

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 **Chapter 9: Darcy**

"Wow, Darce. You talked to not one but two strangers all by yourself? Did someone hold you at gunpoint? Do you feel like you might pass out?"

After squaring everything away with Elizabeth, I fill Charlie in on the good news. With Elizabeth as my guide, I will finally be able to get somewhere with my documentary. I am anxious to hit the ground running. I would have preferred to _not_ have to work with someone so acerbic but…

"Desperation will make a man do crazy things." I turn to Charlie and give him a tight-lipped smile.

"So…" Charlie steps in front of me and walks backward so he can face me as he talks. I roll my eyes already anticipating what he is going to say. "You said she."

I sigh but refuse to respond to Charlie's hidden question.

"How old is she? Is she pretty?"

"Doesn't matter. This is a business arrangement, nothing more." I push past Charlie and walk to the driver's side of the car. "Besides, she's not my type."

"Ha. You don't have a type."

"Well, if I had one, she wouldn't be it." As an after-thought I add, "Honestly, she's not that pretty either."

Charlie fastens his seatbelt as I start the ignition. "Well, I guess I'll have to judge for myself when I meet her."

"You're never going to meet her." I move away from the curb and speed down the road.

"Why ever not? I want to meet this charming girl who you'll be spending all your time with."

"Charming is not the word I would use to describe her or her family. And I wouldn't be working with her if I didn't have to."

"Well, I still want to meet her." Charlie turns towards his window and thankfully does not bring up Elizabeth again during the car ride. Under the guise of silence, I am able to stew over my encounter with the girl I previously regarded as an ethereal angel. Elizabeth regarded me as if I was gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe the entire time I was in the store. Such insolence from someone so beneath my notice. How dare she demean my work and act as if she had never heard of the biggest production company in the nation. And then she had the nerve to make demands of _me_ and try to make _me_ go out of _my_ way to pick her up from another location. And then her mother. The gall of that woman to assume that I, William Darcy, would demean myself to sleep with a backwoods nobody like Elizabeth…Elizabeth… Suddenly I realize that I didn't even get her last name. I assume it might be Bennet since that is the name of the store, but she could be just an employee and not related to the owners. I honestly know nothing about her except that she comes highly recommended by the old lady who sells jewelry on the side of the road. What the hell was I thinking?

"When's the next time you're seeing her?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." I turn the car into my designated parking space.

"Hey just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I remind him as I kill the ignition and push open the driver's side door.

"But satisfaction brought him back," Charlie laughs as he pushes open his door and gets out of the car. I look over at my friend with his messy hair and dark circles under his eyes. Charlie is not a morning person. This early morning excursion probably took a toll on him.

"Thanks for coming with me today."

"Anytime Darce."

I watch Charlie straighten out his shirt and finger comb his hair using the side mirror on the car.

"When are you meeting club girl?" I ask not bothering to keep the snark out of my voice.

"You mean _Janet?_ And I'm actually not sure when we're meeting."

"What? You didn't set a time for your meeting."

Charlie shrugs unbothered. "She said that she's free after noon and I'll be in the building all day. I'll just tell Milly to let her back to my office when she arrives."

I look at Charlie astonished by his nonchalant attitude. Since becoming Charlie Martin, international heartthrob and actor extraordinaire, Charlie has opened every door and received every yes with a simple flash of his award-winning smile. I am convinced that there is no one in the world who can resist his initial charm. But despite this extraordinary talent, Charlie finds himself out-of-luck when it comes to finding true love. His relationships are fleeting at best, toxic at worst. Personally, I think it's because he only goes for the stereotypically pretty girl with no substance. Judging from my interactions with Janet Bennet, she will be no different.

"Okay, Will. Go ahead and spit it out."

"Try not to rush into anything. You do not know this girl."

"That's why I'm meeting with her, to get to know her."

"Yes, but you have been known to fall fast and fall hard for girls you barely know who have ill-intentions. And do not forget, you met this girl in a trashy club. She is not on your level. She is probably a gold digger."

This time Charlie rolls his eyes. "Okay, Darcy. Thanks for your advice. Definitely not judgmental." Without even waiting for me to defend my justified concerns, Charlie slams the door and walks away from me. I do not follow him as he strides through the doors of Pemberley Productions. Instead I hang by my car for a few minutes to give him enough time to flirt with the receptionist and walk to his office alone. When I am confident there is no way I will run into Charlie on the way to my office, I make my way inside the towering building.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Millicent says with a coy smile, "I made you a cup of coffee, just how you like it, cream with two sugars." Millicent holds out the steaming coffee cup over the top of her receptionist desk.

I thank her for the coffee, grab the cup, and walk off before she has time to comment on the weather or make some other inane small talk. Millicent and Charlie were dating for a short while before she was hired at Pemberley Productions. They mutually broke it off with Charlie tactfully citing that he did not want to be tied down to anything too serious so soon and Millicent claiming that she was moving on to bigger and better things.

I am allowed a few hours of productivity before Sophia barges into my office and drags me across the hall claiming that there is something that requires my immediate attention.

"Will, I have found our new Mary Calloway! I just happened to be walking in the hallway, and I noticed these two girls in Charlie's office. Naturally, I was curious, so I peeked in and saw that he was running lines with them. I saw the first girl do the party scene with him and she was a little stiff, but the second girl was amazing! Her delivery, her emotions, the tone of her voice. She's perfect. And oh my gosh, she's stunning too. Drop-dead gorgeous. You have to meet her."

"This better be worth my time," I mutter as I allow Sophia to drag me away from my piles of paperwork.

Charlie's office is a few doors down and across from mine. The door is wide open and Sophia plants herself directly in the doorway. I stand off to the side not wanting to be seen, but I position myself so that I can still see Charlie and his club girl.

A young girl brushes by Sophia and briskly walks down the hall and rounds the corner. I call out to her, but she continues to walk. I move to go after her, but Sophia grabs my shirt sleeve and pulls me back.

"This is more important. Stay here."

I let out an indignant sigh, but I acquiesce and remain at my post in the shadows.

"Do you two think you can do that scene again?" Sophia asks.

"Oh I didn't know we had an audience. We were just fooling around. Also, hi I'm Janet." Janet reaches out a hand to shake Sophia's.

"Sophia. I'd love to see that scene again. I'm directing the movie and we're still deciding the direction we want to go. I really liked your interpretation of the scene. Could you perform it one more time?"

"Um, I've never acted in front of a real director. I'm a little nervous," Jane looks at Sophia with wide eyes and a slightly frightened look.

"Just pretend I'm not here," Sophia whispers as she backs into a corner scrunching down in an effort to become invisible.

Janet closes her eyes and lets out a small sigh before nodding towards Sophia.

"Okay. Great. And… action."

watching the scene play out before us from a safe viewing distance. Club girl and Charlie have amazing chemistry. For a moment I forget that Charlie and club girl stand before me. Instead I see Thomas and Mary, childhood sweethearts.

"Oh, wow, that was beautiful," Sophia rises from her corner, and I slowly step into the office as Charlie smiles at the girl and congratulates her on a scene well done. "Are you sure you've never acted before?"

Janet blushes and looks to the ground. "I've helped with a few school plays, but I'm no actress. I was just helping Charles practice his lines."

"She's a natural, isn't she?" Charlie throws an arm around her waist and beams down at her. She still seems embarrassed, but she smiles back at Charlie. I notice that she ever so slightly inches away from him.

"Truly. There was more chemistry between you two in that short scene than I ever saw between you and Evelyn." Sophia turns to me and exclaims, "Darcy! Did you see her amazing performance? Isn't she perfect for the role?"

Janet turns her hazel eyes towards me. "Oh, you're Darcy? As in William Darcy?"

"The one and only," Charlie declares with a tight-lipped smile.

"Hello, I'm Janet. A pleasure to meet you. Charles speaks so highly of you," the young lady primly declares as she extends her hand for a shake. I examine her head to toe. Charlie sure does have a type. Although Janet is not as… light as Charlie's usual interests, she is undeniably beautiful. She has a perfectly chiseled, regal nose, big brown eyes encased by spidery eyelashes. Her lips are perfectly shaped with a deep cupid's bow and a prettily placed mole in the corner of her mouth. Her thick curly hair flows down her back. She is tall and skinny but with enough curves to appear womanly and not childlike.

I have to hand it to Charlie, he sure knows how to pick them. Her movements are graceful and her entire presence is alluring. I can see what he sees in her, but there is no way I'm letting such a gold digger star in a Pemberley Productions feature film. Sure, she seems nice enough now, but they never stay that way for long.

I limply shake her hand and give a curt, "Pleasure."

Sophia elbows me out of the way so she is once again directly in front of Janet. "So, you've never acted before? Never even thought about it? You've got the face of a star."

"No, absolutely not," I say already anticipating Sophia's train of thought.

Janet looks to Sophia and then turns to me. She gives me a quizzical look before she turns back to Sophia. "Oh, thank you. You're too kind. And no, it never crossed my mind to act. My little sister is the actress in the family. I enjoy being around children, so I work at the grade school in my neighborhood."

"But you told me that you're only there a few days out of the week." Charlie quickly adds.

"Oh, yes, um, I'm not a full-time teacher yet, but I work at my family shop the other days."

"Only a few hours a week," Charlie amends again, "And you said yourself that you feel like they don't actually need you."

"Charlie," I admonish not liking how quickly things are moving, but he ignores me.

He takes both of Janet's hands in his and looks into her eyes pleading with her, "Please Janet. Don't make me go back to reading lines with Emotionless Evelyn. Not when we have so much chemistry." Charlie smiles his megawatt smile, the one that has been making moviegoers swoon for years. The one that propelled him to superstardom after just two movies in a supporting character role. No woman can resist Charlie's Please-for-Me smile.

Janet pulls her hands out of Charlie's grasp and begins to gather her things. "Charlie, I don't think that's a good idea. I don't want to be famous. I just want to teach."

I guess, there's a first time for everything.

Sophia tries again. "You'd be doing us a huge favor if you took the leading female role."

Janet smiles but shakes her head as she grabs her coat.

Before she can finish putting on her coat, Charlie makes a last attempt at making her stay. "There's a role for Amanda too. Your character has a younger sister. She can play the sister."

"Charlie," I admonish again this time more sternly.

Janet stops in her tracks. "Really? Oh my, that would be a dream come true for Amanda. She's always wanted to star in a movie. Maybe she can play Mary. Doesn't that sound great Amanda?" Janet turns and looks about the room, distress playing across her face. "Amanda? She was just here a second ago."

"Well, she wouldn't be the star, she'd be more like –" but before I can finish my statement, Charlie chimes in again.

"She'll have lines and at least five minutes of screen time. She'll be a household name after this movie premieres. Everybody will be asking who she is." He strategically avoids mentioning that most of that screen time will be as a non-verbal background character. The sister has only one line right now, and the writers have considered completely scrapping the role. Charlie is not thinking with the correct head right now.

Before I can speak again, Sophia harshly pulls me out of the room.

"Sophia, stop pulling me around. I'm not your puppet."

"Sorry, but I could see the disapproval in your eyes. You and I both know that Evelyn and Charlie have no chemistry. Yeah, she was great in those few movies they did together where she played a damsel in distress but being able to faint every five minutes and swooning professionally does not an actress make. Evelyn does not have the chops to carry such an emotional role. Janet just might have the ability to do so. Let's at least give her a chance."

"I don't think that's wise. We don't know this girl. She doesn't have an agent. She's never worked in show business before. She could be —"

Sophia holds up a hand to cut me off. "Fine. I didn't want to have to do this, but you appointed me as a creative director, and you said that I would have final say over this project, so…" Sophia walks back into the room and proclaims, "Janet come with me and we'll get you a contract and script. Then we'll orient you. Welcome to the team." Sophia grabs Janet by the arm and pulls her towards my office not giving her time to resist or challenge her. Of course, Charlie turns to follow behind Janet like a clueless, lovesick puppy. I don't like this one bit. Charlie needs to be focused not worried about a woman who obviously does not reciprocate his feelings.

Janet immediately starts panicking and pulling away. "I never said yes. I still need to find my sister!"

"Oh, I think we saw her. Darcy go get her sister. Janet, you stay here and we'll show you the script."

"This is my company. You can't order me around like that."

Without even turning to look at me, Sophia yells, "Shoo!"

I press my lips together and furrow my brows, but I reluctantly turn and walk down the hallway after the girl from earlier. I am not happy about this. Not one bit.


	10. Chapter 10 Lizzy

**Author Note: Sorry for the year long hiatus. Medical school is tough. I thought I could manage studying with writing, but classes are all-consuming. My school has moved to completely online, and a lot of things have been cancelled freeing up my schedule to write. With nothing to do but quarantine, I've been able to start editing this story and finally write another chapter. This chapter is short, but I wanted to get something out there. I made a lot of edits to the story as well. I changed Nia's name to Lizzy and Michael's name back to William Darcy. It just made more sense to me. I also made some edits to the first and second chapter.**

 **This is still a work in progress, so I'll be making edits as I write. I didn't realize how long this story had gotten, and continuity is starting to become an issue. I am determined to finish this book before I graduate in three years. Thank you to all my followers and everyone who has stuck with this story. I truly appreciate you all.**

 **I also started up my blog again. I've moved it to weebly (link in my profile). I'll have excerpts from future chapters of this story and excerpts from some other pieces I'm working on as well as blog posts. I'll have a lot more free time these next three months, and I want to spend this time writing as much as possible.**

 **I hope everyone is doing well during this pandemic. Even though things are bleak right now, we will get through this together. Hope this story brings some joy during these dark days.**

.

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 **Chapter 10: Lizzy**

"So… what did you say?" I watch Janet from our bed as she brushes her hair. I have been hiding out away from mother ever since I got home. Janet covered for me and brought my dinner up earlier. I've been pretending to sleep every time Momma walks past the door.

"I didn't know what to say. And I told him just as much. I needed time to think," Janet puts down the hairbrush and sits down on the edge of the bed. "This isn't a simple decision like which hair bow to buy. This is a career shift. It will require time and dedication. It's alluring, especially since Mary gets a part too, but it seems so rushed and undeserved. I'm not an actress."

I scoot over and lift myself up so that I can braid Janet's hair. "Well if you got hired for a major movie after one accidental screen reading, you must be good at it." I pause to put a hair tie at the bottom of the braid. "Plus, you'll get to spend more time with Charles."

Janet flushes and looks away as she tries to conceal the smile playing out on her lips. "He likes to go by Charlie."

"Of course, he does," I say suggestively as I wiggle my eyebrows.

"Stop it Lizzy. He's just being nice."

I roll my eyes astonished by Janet's lack of awareness. "Being nice would be holding a door open. This man offered you a part in his major motion picture and asked you out to dinner on Friday, if that's not dating, I don't know what is."

"We're going to be practicing lines while eating food. That's not a date."  
"Janet, your denial is astonishing."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I fling myself under the covers and curl up just as the door to our room slides open.

"Is Lizzy still sleeping? I thought I heard her voice."  
"Yes, Momma, she's still asleep."

"Hmmph." I hear footsteps coming closer to the bed. "Who helped you with this braid? It looks really neat."

"Oh thank you. I did it myself. I'm surprised I got it to look so nice without help." A few beats pass. "Anything you need Momma?"

"No Janet, dear. If Lizzy wakes up, let her know I want to speak to her."

"Of course, Momma. Goodnight!"  
"Goodnight."

The door shuts, but I wait until Janet whispers, "The coast is clear," before I turn over to look at her.

"You can't avoid her forever, Lizzy dear."

"Yeah, but I can avoid her for tonight."

Janet shakes her head but decides to leave the topic alone. "So tell me about this new job."

I sit up again. "It was so crazy, Janet. I'm working the store as usual when this uppity fellow waltzes in like he owns the place. You won't believe who it is. It's that jerk from the club! The one who was super rude and called us whores."

"Oh, my goodness. I met him today." Janet's eyes grow wide. "I forgot that he was at the club with us that night." Janet pauses and looks over my shoulder out the window. "I don't think he likes me very much."

"Ugh. I don't think he likes anything very much. Besides himself," I amend. "He kept going on and on about how he's so well-known and his company is so important. I can't believe Charlie is friends with him. You said Charlie is nice?"

"He is," Janet enthuses. "He is really sweet and charming. I asked him about Darcy. I think his name is William, but everyone calls him Darcy. And he told me that Darcy is a sweetheart, just rough around the edge. I don't know yet Lizzy. Maybe we just have to get to know him." A huge grin breaks out across Janet's face as she continues, "And now you'll have plenty of opportunity to get to know him."

My mouth turns down in disgust. "This is just a job to me. Nothing more. I don't want to get to know him. I want to do a good job and make enough money to pay for my course. Besides, I know everything I need to know about that pompous jerk."

Janet doesn't say anything more, but I can still see the smirk on her lips as she gets up to turn off the lights before crawling under the covers next to me. As much as I love my sister, she's too much of an optimist. Always seeing the best in people. I trust my gut feeling, and my gut is telling me that William Darcy is an entitled jerk that cannot be trusted.

.

.

.

"So, Elizabeth," my mother begins with a sly look on her face. "Why haven't you invited your beau to family dinner yet? I'm sure everybody would love to meet this fellow."

My father puts down his paper and glances up at me intrigued. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes convey a sense of hurt.

I let out a heavy sigh as I continue to push my eggs around my plate. I tried to skip breakfast by claiming a continuation of my illness from last night, but Momma insisted on my eating something before I wasted away of hunger. She threatened to drag me down herself, and Momma doesn't make idle threats.

"He's not my beau," I finally reply. "May I go now? I'm still not feeling well."

"Nonsense! You cannot leave until you eat at least half your plate. Now if he isn't your beau why were you holding his arm in such a strong embrace?"

Lianna looks at me with wide, excited eyes. "Nia? A suitor? I thought I'd never see the day! Is it someone we know?"

"No!" Mother declares giddily. She is practically leaping out of her chair with enthusiasm. "It was a white man. Lizzy's gone and got herself engaged to a white man."

I choke on my orange juice as Papa's cup slams forcefully down on the table.

"What?" We both exclaim. I look to Papa trying to show him that I am just as shocked and confused as he is.

"I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes."

"No! No! No! You didn't see anything. That was the first time I had ever met that man. He was offering me a job."

"What," Lianna laughs, "as his prostitute?"

"No!" I shout agitated. My fist furls tightly around my fork and knife. "A legitimate job that pays way more than anything I could have found around here. So please don't mess this up for me by snooping around and trying to create drama like you always do." I point my words directly at Momma and Lianna.

Papa, who seems to have calmed down, asks, "How much does the job pay?"

"Eight dollars an hour and I'll be working about five hours a week."

Momma's hand fly to her heart and her eyes flutter as if she is about to faint. "Eight dollars! No way on God's green earth will a man pay a woman eight dollars for any moral, upstanding work. I know money is tight, but no daughter of mine will be pimped out. What if the neighbors find out? It would ruin any chances you girls have of making reputable matches."

"Who cares what the neighbors think? Prostitution is dangerous and potentially deadly." Amanda holds up her hands, "Now, I'm all for free expression, but –"

"Everybody, I'm not working as a prostitute! I'm working as a tour guide." There Momma goes again. Making drama where there is none. One minute he's my fiancé the next I'm his prostitute. Good grief.

"Heavens me! He has you scouting for other girls." Momma shakes her head in disappointment, "I should've known it was too good to be true. I could see Janet pulling a man like that, but you, not in a million years." Momma begins rapidly fanning herself as she dramatically continues. "Lizzy, darling, how can you be so naive and stupid! Men like that don't marry girls like you. He's way too rich and way too handsome to seriously consider making an honest woman out of you. You gotta be careful dealing with these white men. They'll use you and ruin you. They are not to be trusted. They'll get you pregnant and claim the baby isn't there's. You can't trap them."

I push away from the table and forcefully stand up. "Oh my God! _He's_ not a pimp. _I'm_ not a prostitute. There's absolutely _nothing_ romantic going on between us. He hired me as a tour guide for the documentary he's filming. He wants help with his film. And before you throw out another wild accusation, no, it's not an illicit documentary. It's just a documentary about our town history. Also, no I will _not_ invite him over for dinner or breakfast or any meal because this is _strictly_ a business partnership where I provide a _legal_ service and he pays me so that I can _finally_ sign up for the creative writing program that I've been wanting to go to for the past two years. God, _why_ do you all have to be so overly dramatic _all_ of the time!" Once I am done my speech, I clear my place at the table, grab my coat and bag, and fly out the door in a haze of fury. Leaving behind an affronted mother and youngest sister, two bewildered sisters, and an amused father.


	11. Chapter 11 Lizzy

**Author's Note : Here is the complete chapter 11. Now that school is over, I will hopefully be able to get back to posting regularly. Thank you to all of my loyal readers who have stuck with this story, and welcome to all of the new readers. I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe. Enjoy!**

 **Stay Happy, Stay Golden!**

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 **Chapter 11** **: Lizzy**

"Okay, Mr. Darcy, what's the first place on your list?" I turn to Darcy waiting expectantly for his reply. When we first met this morning, he gave me the general rundown of his project and listed a few places he hoped to stop by today. He currently stands next to me impeccably dressed. His blue shirt is crisp, and his navy pants are perfectly tailored. He has on a pair of shiny black shoes and his silver watch adorns his right wrist. Even though I still find him intolerable, Mr. Moneybags hasn't given me anything to be mad about… yet.

"I want to start with Mama June's diner. Have you heard of it?"

"Of course! Everybody in this part of town has heard of Mama June's and her buttery pancakes. Mmm. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. I know everybody who works there. They can hook us up with a free side of eggs and bacon with our pancakes."

I watch as Darcy's face scrunches up before he states, "We are not going there for food. I am not paying you to eat, I am paying you to work."

I raise my eyebrows, annoyed by his sharp tone. "Why can't we do both? It'd be more authentic if you got footage of their famous buttermilk pancakes. You could film me while I eat the pancakes and talk to everybody."

He is quiet for a moment.

"You want to get pictures because it was the first diner in Virginia, right?" I ask.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've lived here my entire life," I say trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "I know these stores and shops and diners like the back of my hand. That's why you hired me right?" Before he can reply, I continue, "You can't talk about a diner without showcasing the food." He still doesn't look convinced. "It's a good idea. You don't have to admit it, but you and I both know it's a good idea."

Maybe I'm purposely looking to start a fight, but something in me won't let me back down from this one. I stop in front of him and cross my arms over my chest. He looks at me with a face of stone. I can't read anything behind his steely gaze.

Suddenly he heavily sighs, "Fine. We will order the pancakes, and we will film you eating the pancakes and talking to the workers."

I smile contentedly as we walk the short distance to Mama June's. Before he can pull the door open, I put a hand out to stop him. "Before we go in, I gotta tell you something very important. Don't ask about the fire. That's a testy subject. I can tell you the full story later but bringing that up is the quickest way to have everyone in that diner avoid you."

He looks at me with wide eyes as if just now realizing something. I don't question it. Instead I push the door open and let the smell of frying bacon and melting butter caress my nostrils. I'm not the biggest fan of breakfast, but Mama June's cooking is worth waking up early for. I immediately head to the counter not waiting to see if Darcy is following me.

I see Miles Johnson behind the counter balancing plates up and down his arm. I call out to him, and when he sees me, he gives me a big smile. Miles is Mama June's grandson, and he's been helping her out at the diner ever since he finished high school. I was a year ahead of him in school and remember him being a very quiet but thoughtful guy. As he balances the plates on his arms, I see him mouth, "Just a minute," so I nod and take a seat at the counter. Darcy continues to stand near the cash register and does not take the empty seat next to me.

When Miles returns to the counter, I see Darcy open his mouth to speak. Before he can get a word out, I whisper to him, "Let me do my job." I give Darcy a look to let him know that my statement was not a suggestion. He takes the hint and moves back reluctantly.

I turn to Miles and smile. "Hey Miles, is Mama June in today? Or her daughter?"

"Uh, I'll go check Lizzy."

"Thanks," I chirp as Miles disappears behind the swinging double doors. I turn to Darcy, "I think it's best if you let me do the speaking. After all, that's what you're paying me for."

"I could have handled it," Darcy huffs.

I roll my eyes and turn away from him in lieu of a response.

A few seconds later Miles returns with a smile on his face. "She's in the back. She said to tell you that she can give you twenty minutes!"

"Thanks Miles. When you go back to the kitchen, could you bring me back a plate of pancakes as well?"

"Of course, Lizzy. Eggs and bacon on the side just like you usually get."

"You're amazing." I turn to Mr. Moneybags and smirk. "Come on Darcy, we don't have all day."

We both follow Miles through the kitchen and into the office that sits at the back. When we arrive at the door, Miles tells us to go in when we're ready. Before Darcy can march through the door, I put my hand on his chest to stop him once more. I can tell that he is used to calling the shots and being in charge. But in order for him to get the information he's looking for, he's going to have to defer to my better judgment. I know these places and these people.

"Look, Darcy. This, I'm-the-commander-and-I-will-force-you-to-do-my-will schtick might work up on Pemberley Hill, but it's not gonna work with Mama June, and it won't get you any answers in this part of town. Let me do what I'm good at, the talking. And you do what you're good at, the filming. Otherwise, this arrangement won't work. Okay?"

He looks at me for a minute, and even though his face is stone cold, I can sense that he is waging a pretty intense internal battle behind his guarded eyes. I've got a reputation to uphold. There is no way I am letting him do the talking when we go in. I can already see him saying something extremely offensive and getting me banned from the best diner in town.

His internal war rages on for a few seconds longer before he finally acquiesces and gives me a nod of understanding. I give him a nod in return before pushing open the office door.

"Lizzy Bennet! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mama June," I break out into a huge grin as I reach down to hug the unofficial grandmother of the town, "it's so good to see you. I already asked Miles to bring back a plate of pancakes. I've been craving your buttermilk stack for a while."

Mama June's gray hair is piled high on her head. Bright, colorful costume jewelry hangs from each wrist and around her graceful neck. Her skin is worn from age but still has a luster. Her eyes twinkle with youth not soon forgotten. I hope I look half as good as she does when I reach my 80's.

When we part, she looks to my right and notices Darcy standing in the corner. "And who's your… associate."

I turn quickly to look at Darcy. His arms are crossed in front of him and his facial expression is unreadable. "Oh him? He's a filmmaker. He wants to make sure everyone knows why Mama June's is the best diner in the nation."

"Oh hush, child. You know flattery gets you nowhere with me." Mama June swats at my arm and gives Darcy a once-over. I bite my lip in anticipation. There's a good chance she won't want to talk to him especially with the high and mighty airs he is currently giving off.

"And what's your name, son?"

Darcy clears his throat and extends a hand. "Darcy. William Darcy. I own Pemberley productions."

"Darcy, hmm. I don't hear that name around here very often." Mama June stands and walks to her bookshelf. "Pemberley productions. Ya'll make westerns and the such, right? You know I used to be a performer myself." She holds out a picture framed in gold. Darcy comes to stand by me as we both peer down at the relic. A much younger woman can be seen sitting with a stoic look on her face. "This was my professional picture."

"You haven't aged at all, Mama." Despite what she said earlier, I know for a fact that flattery is the quickest way to get in her good graces, and we're gonna need all of the good grace we can get to keep her talking and to get her to agree to be filmed while she does.

"I used to be a dancer like your sister Mary. Back then there weren't as many opportunities out there for someone like me. I ended up mainly working the local night circuit while I was in showbiz. Wasn't the most decent job, but it kept food on the table."

"Mrs. June, this has all been very… entertaining, but we were told we only have twenty minutes, and there's some questions I'd like to ask you about your diner."

I turn to look at Darcy with wide eyes. Out of the corner of my mouth, I hiss at him, "What did I say about letting me do the talking?"

"No offense Elizabeth, but we are wasting time here. Mrs. June will you agree to answer my questions and allow me to film you or are we wasting our time?"

Mama June looks between the two of us before narrowing her eyes. "I'm tired, so I won't have time today. Tell Miles to pack your food for the road. Don't be a stranger, Lizzy Bennet."

I give Mama June a nod and a smile and pull Darcy out of the office before he can make things worse. I grab a to-go box from Miles and say a quick goodbye. I ignore Darcy's complaining and fussing until we are both out of the door and back onto the street.

Away from all of the patrons enjoying their breakfast, I don't hold back my anger, "We were doing so well! Why did you have to talk and mess everything up? We agreed to let me do the talking. You couldn't stand not being in charge for half an hour and look where it got us. Back on the streets with no progress. Zero. Zilch."

"How is this my fault?" he spits out. "You were getting absolutely nowhere with her. We didn't come to learn about her time as a performer. We came to learn about the history of the restaurant."

"Her time as a performer is integral to the history of the restaurant," I quietly yell back. "Everything about her life up until now is the history of the restaurant. Don't you understand?" I take a deep breath and let the air out slowly. "Have you ever interviewed people before? Scratch that. Have you ever talked to someone who doesn't work for you before?"

When he leaves the questions unanswered, I continue on, "You speak to people as if they owe you something. You've gotta be nicer when you're asking for things. Nobody owes you anything."

I start walking in the direction of the car. I don't have a plan or goal, but I cannot stand looking at him and his piercing green eyes anymore.

"For the record, I have talked to people who are not under my employ."

I turn to him surprised to see that he is following behind me.

"My time is precious, and I do not like when it is being wasted."

I stop walking and look up at him. "I don't know how you all usually make your movies, but when you're trying to tell a story about real people, you have to listen to the full story. Every little mundane detail is important for that person's story. You find the treasure in the little details. Does that make sense?"

He shakes his head no. "Not really."

I sigh again. "Well, if you want to do this project right, you're going to have to be okay with wasting time listening to little details. And then your job will be to sift through the little details in order to tell the complete story. That's the only way you're going to get a documentary worth anything." I pause knowing that he won't let like the next part. "Also, I think it will be beneficial to write down the questions beforehand and let me pre-screen them to make sure you aren't going to offend anyone. We don't want a repeat of what just happened with Mama June. Can you do that?"

He takes some time to think over what I've said. I see an internal war being waged behind his eyes again. He looks at me with gritted teeth and scrunched eyebrows. "Fine. We will do it your way."

A slow smile spreads across my face. I have no idea what I would have done if he insisted on doing things his way. I've got a reputation to uphold in this town, but also, I could really use the money. I continue on aimlessly walking in an attempt to find a potential spot to film.

Darcy puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. "This bookshop used to be a library. It's also on my list."

"Mr. Donovan runs this shop. He'd be the one to talk to. He's usually at the cash register. I'll see if he can spare some time and doesn't mind being filmed. But first…" I lead us to a tall tree before I search my bag and pull out a notepad and pencil that I hand to Darcy. He begrudgingly takes them before leaning against the tree and scribbling out some questions. When he is done he tosses the notebook to me.

"Okay, first two are good intro questions. He's going to mention his father and how his father got the store, but if he doesn't maybe prompt him by asking him to talk about the previous owner." I continue reading through the list of questions nodding with approval until I reach the seventh question. "Don't ask how much the store makes."

"But I want –"

"It's inappropriate. I'm crossing it off, and I will pull you out of the store if you ask it." I quickly glance over the remaining questions. Satisfied, I hand the notebook back and give him a nod. "This list is Lizzy Bennet approved. We are good to go in."

"I still do not understand why I cannot ask about the logistics of the business. It is important to get a clear understanding of all of the moving parts."

"You agreed to do things my way, so stop complaining. It looks like he's in, so come on."

.

.

.

Like a street lamppost or park bench, Mr. Donovan and his eclectic bookstore are permanent fixtures of the town. I frequently drop by his store on my way to the city on days when I'm not running late to meet my snake of a boss, Jim Barnes.

The bell over the door dings as we step through the old bookstore. The lights are low and the air around us is dusty. I cough as I make my way to the side of the store where Mr. Donovan usually sits. As expected, he is sitting in his old folding chair behind the counter, reading the newspaper and drinking a steaming cup of coffee.

I clear my throat. "Mr. Donovan, do you got a minute?"

He looks up at me and smiles. Before Darcy can say anything and mess this up, I walk up to the counter and lean in towards the older gentleman.

"Mr. Donovan, how would you like to talk about your bookstore and tell people all about what makes it so special?"

Mr. Donovan considers me for a moment, glances over at Darcy, and then looks back at me. "What kind of people would I be talking to?"

"Oh, loads of people. This man wants to make a film about all the places in our town that are special. He wants your store to be recognized for the gem that it is."

"Do I gotta read lines or something?"

"Nope! Mr. Darcy over here is just going to ask you some questions and film you while you answer. If there's anything you don't feel comfortable answering just let him know. You only gotta answer the ones you want."

Mr. Donovan rubs his chin and thinks for a moment. "Is he gonna pay me anything for my time?"

I frown slightly. Darcy didn't make any mention of paying participants, but now that Mr. Donovan mentioned it, I guess its only right to compensate him for his time.

I turn to Darcy and whisper. "Does your budget allow for participant compensation?"

He looks at me for a moment. "How much will it take for him to answer all of my questions?"

I walk back over to Mr. Donovan. "How much do you want?"

Mr. Donovan's eyes grow wide. "I get to name my own price too?" He scratches his chin and then leans in even closer, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. "How much is he paying you? You're getting paid for this right?"

I give him a side smirk. "Of course, I'm getting paid. Eight dollars an hour."

"My girl! You think he'll pay me what he's paying you?"

I give him a grin and then turn back to Darcy. "I think eight dollars should be just enough to compensate him for the time he will have to divert from managing the store to fully focusing on answering your questions, right Darcy?"

Darcy scrunches his forehead and narrows his eyes. I can't tell if he is thinking really hard or annoyed. He has one of the most unreadable faces I have ever seen. After a beat, he shrugs and reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

"That sounds good." He pulls out his wallet and rifles through it. "Here's four dollars now, and I'll give you the other four after we're done filming."

Mr. Donovan fights against the smile threatening to overwhelm his face as Darcy places the four dollar bills on the countertop. He then clears his throat. "You can stay where you're seated right now. Give me a moment to set up my camera."

Darcy walks around the little store turning this way and that until he finally settles on a corner by the window. As he sets up his equipment, I turn to Mr. Donovan to brief him on what's going on.

"Woohoo, Ms. Lizzy, you've got some mighty nice friends. Where'd you find this one?"

"He found me. Well, Mrs. Potts sent him to me. He's one of those fancy executive filmmakers up on Pemberley Hill. He's a little snooty, but I'm working on that."

"I'm sure you are. I know you won't let him push you around. I'm guessing you're saving up the money for that college course."

Mr. Donovan is one of the few people who knows about my dream of being a writer. He offered to give me a job at the bookstore to help me pay for the course, but he's barely making ends meet as is. Adding an employee would just add to his problems, and I wouldn't want to do that.

I nod. "I did the math last night and it should take me about nine four-hour sessions to save up enough for the course."

Mr. Donovan smiles up at me. "I knew you'd find a way Lizzy. You just hang in there and you'll reach your goals."

"Elizabeth, can you step to the side. You're in the frame."

I turn to the corner where Darcy has set up his camera. I am not used to hearing anyone speak my full name. It almost sounds regal coming from Darcy's lips.

"Elizabeth, did you hear me?"

"Oh yes, sorry. I'm moving." I move to Darcy's side so that I can cue Mr. Donovan if need be.

"Okay…let's begin." Darcy fiddles with the camera and presses some buttons. It whirs into motion and I am amazed by how this contraption is going to capture Mr. Donovan's life story and preserve it so that people decades in the future will be able to watch. "Can you please look into the camera lens and state your name and the name of this establishment?"

Mr. Donovan glances at me, and I give him an encouraging nod and point at the camera lens signaling him to look at it.

"Um, my name is Mr. Darius Donovan, and we are currently in my book shop, Donovan's Bookshop."

"Mr. Donovan, when did you start working here?"

"Oh, I've been here my entire life. My Pa owned the store until he died, and then I took over in say '62. Maybe '65. Not quite sure anymore. Memories a tricky thing these days."

"Do you know when it was converted from a library to a bookstore and why that was?"

"Oh, but it still is a library. It's both you see. We wanted to give people choices. Different options. If someone wants to just buy a book, they can or if they don't have the coins for the book or want to try it out first, they can borrow it and return it in a week. I mainly do this for the youngins but if the grownfolk ask, I let them borrow a book or two."

The rest of the interview goes swimmingly. Darcy stays on script and only asks questions that were Lizzy Bennet approved. After Mr. Donovan gives his closing comments, Darcy thanks him for his time and then turns the camera off. As Darcy packs up, I chat with Mr. Donovan for a little bit and thank him again for his participation. Darcy comes over and hands him four dollar bills and gives him a stiff nod before we both exit.

I jump up for joy elated that we accomplished something today. "Wow, that was so amazing. That flowed so nicely. Where to next?"

Darcy glances down at his watch. "I need to head back up to the office. This took a lot longer than I expected. It's already noon." He heads in the direction of his car which is parked across the street from my family's store.

"Oh, wow. I didn't realize that we've been working for so long. Well, okay. I guess, I'll see you next Friday?"

"Yes, next Friday." Silence. "Do you think that Mama June will be open to trying again next Friday?"

"Oh no, most definitely not. I'm going to need to do some major mending of bridges before we try again. That's going to take at least two weeks of kissing up. What else is on your list?"

He thinks for a moment. "Do you know anything about the dock workers or the old defunct train station?"

"I know this part of town inside and out. Let's go to the train station next week. I can tell you all the urban legends involving that defunct train line. It's quite fascinating."

"That works for me. We can meet at 9 am. Since we'll be filming outside, it is best to wait for the sun to come up. Are you fine with talking on camera?"

"Yeah, no problem."

We stop in front of Bennet's One Stop Shop. Darcy looks down at me for a moment, and I look back unsure of how to politely ask for my money. After a few seconds of uncomfortable staring, he is jolted out of his thoughts.

"I almost forgot. Here is the money I owe you for the work today." He pulls out some bills and hands them over to me. I count 50 dollars.

"If my math is correct, you only owe me 40 dollars."

Darcy shrugs as he starts to walk across the street to his car. "Use the extra to buy yourself a new dress."

"What's wrong with the dress I'm wearing?" I ask as I make to follow him.

He does not stop walking or turn around when he answers, "It's old and ratty." He opens the front door of his car and quickly drives away leaving me shocked and the teensy tiniest bit hurt. When I take out my cash in the safety of my room later that day, the 50 dollars in my hands help lessen the sting.


End file.
